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GENERAL     D'ARBLAY. 


BOSTON:   ROBERTS  BROTHHRS. 


THE 


DIARY  AND    LETTERS 


OF 


FRANCES    BURNEY, 


MADAME    DARBLAY. 


REVISED   AND    EDITED   BY 


SARAH    CHAUNCEY   WOOLSEY. 


IN   TWO   VOLUMES 
Vol.  1 1. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1880. 


Copyright,  1880, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


University  Press  : 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


DIARY  AND  LETTERS 


MADAME     D'ARBLAY 


CHAPTER   I. 

1788  —  1789. 

Monday,  August  18th.  —  Well,  now  I  have  a  new  per- 
sonage to  introduce  to  you,  and  no  small  one ;  ask  else  the 
stars,  moon,  and  planets !  While  I  was  surrounded  with 
bandboxes,  and  unpacking.  Dr.  Shepherd  was  announced. 
Eager  to  make  his  compliments  on  the  safe  return,  he 
forced  a  passage  through  the  back  avenues  and  stairs,  for 
he  told  me  he  did  not  like  being  seen  coming  to  me  at  the 
front  door,  as  it  might  create  some  jealousies  amongst  the 
other  Canons  !  A  very  commendable  circumspection  I  but 
whether  for  my  sake  or  his  own  he  did  not  particularize. 

M.  de  Lalande,*  he  said,  the  famous  astronomer,  was  just 
arrived  in  England,  and  now  at  Windsor,  and  he  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  be  introduced  to  me. 

Well,  while  he  was  talking  this  over,  and  I  was  wonder- 
ing and  evading,  entered  Mr.  Turbulent.     What  a  surprise 

^  A  Frencli  astronomer  of  great  genius  and  celebrity,  born  in  1732. 
He  was  brought  up  to  the  study  of  the  law,  but  early  displayed  his  pro- 
ficiency in  scientific  and  especially  astronomical  studies.      Died  in  1807. 


4  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

at  sio-Iit  of  the  reverend  Canon  !  The  reverend  Canon, 
aho,  was  interrupted  and  contused,  fearing,  possibly,  the 
high  honor  he  did  me  might  now  transpire  amongst  his 
bretliren,  notwithstanding  his  generous  efforts  to  spare 
them  its  knowledge. 

Mr.  Turbulent,  who  looked  big  with  heroics,  was  quite 
provoked  to  see  he  had  no  chance  of  giving  them  vent. 
They  each  outstayed  the  patience  of  the  other,  and  at  last 
both  went  off  together.  Some  hours  after,  however,  while 
I  was  dressing,  the  Canon  returned.  I  could  not  admit 
him,  and  bid  Goter  tell  him  at  the  door  I  was  not  visible. 
He  desired  he  might  wait  till  I  was  ready,  as  he  had  busi- 
ness of  importance.  I  would  not  let  him  into  the  next 
room,  but  said  he  might  stay  in  the  eating-parlor. 

When  I  was  dressed,  I  sent  Goter  to  bring  him  in.  She 
came  back,  grinning  and  coloring  ;  she  had  not  found  him, 
she  said,  but  only  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who  was  there 
alone,  and  had  called  her  in  to  know  what  she  wanted. 
She  answered  she  came  to  see  for  a  gentleman.  "  There's 
no  gentleman,"  she  cried,  "  to  come  into  my  parlor  !  it  is 
not  permit.     When  he  comes  I  will  have  it  locked  up  1" 

Oh,  ho,  my  poor  careful  Canon  !  thought  I.  However, 
soon  after  a  tap  again  at  my  door  introduced  him.  He 
said  he  had  been  waiting  below  in  the  passage  as  he  saw 
Madame  SchweUenberg  in  the  parlor,  and  did  not  care  to 
have  her  know  him ;  but  his  business  Avas  to  settle  bring- 
incr  M.  de  Lalande  to  see  me  in  the  evening.  I  told  him  I 
was  much  honored,  and  so  forth,  but  that  I  received  no 
evening  company,  as  I  was  officially  engaged.  He  had 
made  the  appointment,  he  said,  and  could  not  break  it, 
without  affronting  him ;  besides,  he  gave  me  to  understand 
it  would  be  an  honor  to  me  for  ever  to  be  visited  by  so 
great  an  astronomer.  I  agreed  as  to  that,  and  was  forced, 
moreover,  to  agree  to  all  the  rest,  no  resource  remaining. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  5 

I  mentioned  to  her  Majesty  the  state  of  the  case.  She 
thought  the  Canon  very  officious,  and  disapproved  the 
arrangement,  hut  saw  it  was  unavoidable.  But  when  the 
dinner  came  I  was  asked  by  the  2^'>'^sidente,  "  What  for  send 
you  gentlemen  to  my  parlor  ? "  "I  was  dressing,  ma'am, 
and  could  not  possibly  receive  company  in  mine,  and 
thought  the  other  empty."  "  Empty  or  full  is  the  same  ! 
I  won't  have  it.  I  will  lock  up  the  room  when  it  is  done 
so.  No,  no,  I  won't  have  no  gentlemen  here ;  it  is  not 
permit,  perticklere  when  they  won't  not  speak  to  me ! " 
I  then  lieard  that  a  "  large  man,  what  you  call,"  had  en- 
tered that  sacred  domain,  and  seeing  there  a  lady,  had 
quitted  it  "  bob  short !  "  I  immediately  explained  all  that 
had  passed,  for  I  had  no  other  way  to  save  myself  from  an 
imputation  of  favoring  the  visits  and  indiscretion  of  this 
most  gallant  Canon.  "  Veil,  when  he  comes  so  often  he 
might  like  you.  ¥ov  what  won't  you  not  marry  him  ?" 
This  was  coming  to  the  point,  and  so  seriously,  I  found 
myself  obliged  to  be  serious  in  answer,  to  avoid  miscon- 
struction, and  to  assure  her,  that  were  he  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,,  and  actually  at  my  feet,  I  would  not  become 
Archbishopess.  "  Yel,  you  been  right  when  you  don't  not 
like  him ;  I  don't  not  like  the  men  neither :  not  one  from 
them  ! "  So  this  settled  us  very  amicably  till  tea-time, 
and  in  the  midst  of  that,  with  a  room  full  of  people,  I  was 
called  out  by  Westerhaults  to  Dr.  Shepherd  ! 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  herself  actually  te-hed  at  this,  and  I 
could  not  possibly  help  laughing  myself,  but  I  hurried  into 
the  next  room,  where  I  found  liim  with  his  friend  M.  de 
Lalande.  What  a  reception  awaited  me !  how  unexpected 
a  one  from  a  famed  and  great  astronomer  !  M.  de  Lalande 
advanced  to  meet  me  —  I  will  not  be  quite  positive  it  was 
on  tiptoe,  but  certainly  with  a  mixture  of  jerk  and  strut 
that  could  not  be  quite  flat-footed.-    He  kissed  his  hand 


b  DIARY  AND    LETTERS  [1788. 

with  the  air  of  a  petit  maitre,  and  then  broke  forth  into 
such  an  harangue  of  eloges,  so  solemn  with  regard  to  its  own 
weight  and  importance,  and  so  fade  witli  respect  to  the  httle 
personage  addressed,  that  I  could  not  help  thinking  it 
lucky  for  the  planets,  stars,  and  sun,  they  were  not  bound 
to  hear  his  comments,  tliough  obliged  to  undergo  his  cal- 
culations. 

On  my  part  sundry  profound  reverences,  with  now  and 
then  an  "6>7i,  monsieur !"  o^  "cest  trop  dlionneur"  acquitted 
me  so  well,  that  the  first  harangue  being  finished,  on  the 
score  of  general  and  grand  reputation,  eloge  the  second 
began,  on  the  excellence  with  which  "cette  c^lebre  demoiselle" 
spoke  French. 

This  may  surprise  you,  my  dear  friends ;  but  you  must 
consider  M.  de  Lalande  is  a  great  discoverer. 

Well,  but  had  you  seen  Dr.  Shepherd !  he  looked  lost  in 
sleek  delight  and  wonder,  that  a  person  to  whom  he  had 
introduced  M.  de  Lalande  should  be  an  object  for  such 
fine  speeches. 

This  gentleman's  figure,  meanwhile,  corresponds  no  bet- 
ter with  his  discourse  than  his  scientific  profession,  for 
he  is  an  ugly  little  wrinkled  old  man,  with  a  fine  showy 
waistcoat,  rich  lace  ruffles,  and  the  grimaces  of  a  dentist. 
I  believe  he  chose  to  display  that  a  Frenchman  of  science 
could  be  also  a  man  of  gallantry. 

I  was  seated  between  them,  but  the  good  doctor  made 
no  greater  interruption  to  the  florid  professor  than  I  did 
myself:  he  only  grinned  applause,  with  placid,  but  inef- 
fable satisfaction. 

Nothing  therefore  intervening,  eloge  the  third  followed, 
after  a  pause  no  longer  than  might  be  necessary  for  due 
admiration  of  eloge  the  second.  This  had  for  sujet  the  fair 
female  sex ;  how  the  ladies  were  now  all  improved ;  how 
they  could  write,  and  read,  and  spell ;  how  a  man  now-a- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  7 

days  might  talk  with  them  and  be  understood,  and  how 
delightful  it  was  to  see  such  pretty  creatures  turned 
rational ! 

And  all  this,  of  course,  interspersed  with  particular  ob- 
servations and  most  pointed  applications ;  nor  was  there 
in  the  whole  string  of  compliments  which  made  up  the 
three  bouquets,  one  single  one  amongst  them  that  might 
have  disgraced  awy  petit  maitre  to  utter,  or  any  iMite  7nai- 
tresse  to  hear. 

The  third  being  ended,  a  rather  longer  pause  ensued.  I 
believe  he  was  dry,  but  I  offered  him  no  tea.  I  would 
not  voluntarily  be  accessory  to  detaining  such  great  per- 
sonages from  higher  avocations.  I  wished  him  next  to  go 
and  study  the  stars :  from  the  moon  he  seemed  so  lately 
arrived  there  was  little  occasion  for  another  journey. 

I  flatter  myself  he  was  of  the  same  opinion,  for  the 
fourth  eloge  was  all  upon  his  unhappiness  in  tearing  him- 
self away  from  so  much  merit,  and  ended  in  as  many  bows 
as  had  accompanied  his  entrance. 

I  suppose,  in  going,  he  said,  with  a  shrug,  to  the  canon, 
"31.  le  Docteur,  c  est  Men  genant,  mats  il  faut  dire  desjolies 
choses  aux  dames  !  " 

I  was  obliged  on  my  return  to  the  tea-room  to  undergo 
much  dull  raillery  from  my  fair  companion,  and  much  of 
wonder  that  "  since  the  canon  had  soch  good  preferment " 
I  did  not  "  marry  him  at  once,"  for  he  "  would  not  come  so 
often  if  he  did  not  want  it." 

Tuesday,  August  18th.  —  The  Duke  of  York's  birthday 
was  kept  this  day,  instead  of  Saturday,  that  Sunday  morn- 
ing might  not  interfere  with  the  ball. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  arrived  early,  while  I  was  yet  with 
the  Queen.  He  kissed  her  hand,  and  she  •  sent  for  the 
Princesses.  Only  Princess  Elizabeth  and  Princess  Sophia 
were  dressed.     Her  Majesty  went  into  the  next  room  with 


8  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

Mrs.  Sandys,  to  have  her  shoes  put  on,  with  which  she 
always  finislies.  The  Prince  and  Princesses  then  cliatted 
away  most  fluently.  Princess  Elizabeth  frequently  ad- 
dressed me  with  great  sweetness  ;  but  the  Prince  only  with 
curious  eyes.  Do  not,  however,  understand  that  his  looks 
were  either  haughty  or  impertinent ;  far  from  it ;  they 
were  curious,  however,  in  the  extreme. 
•  The  rest  of  the  day  was  almost  all  devoted  to  dressing 
and  attendance,  except  a  dinner,  an  afternoon,  a  tea,  and 
an  evening  tete-k-tete  ! 

I  had  a  most  restless  and  feverish  night,  attempting  to 
lie  down  at  twelve  o'clock  and  rising  at  four.  The  Queen 
came  home  from  the  Castle,  where  the  ball  and  supper 
were  given,  about  five ;  and  at  six  I  again  laid  down  till 
near  eight. 

For  the  remainder  of  this  month  we  had  General  Bude, 
Colonel  Manners,  and  Mr.  Bunbury,  on  visits  most  of  the 
time  to  aid  the  Equerry  in  Waiting,  Colonel  Goldsworthy. 

Everybody  was  full  of  Mr.  Fairly's  appointment,  and 
spoke  of  it  with  pleasure.  General  Bude  had  seen  him  in 
town;  where  he  had  remained  some  days  to  take  the  oaths, 
I  believe,  necessary  for  his  place.  General  Bude  has  long 
been  intimate  with  him,  and  spoke  of  his  character  exactly 
as  it  has  appeared  to  me ;  and  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  who 
was  at  Westminster  with  him,  declared  he  believed  a  better 
man  did  not  exist.  "  This,  in  particular,"  cried  General 
Bude,  "  I  must  say  of  Fairly  :  whatever  he  thinks  right  he 
pursues  straightforward ;  and  I  believe  there  is  not  a  sac- 
rifice upon  earth  that  he  would  not  make,  rather  than  turn 
a  moment  out  of  the  path  that  he  had  an  opinion  it  was 
his  duty  to  keep  in." 

They  talked  a  good  deal  of  his  late  lady ;  none  of  them 


17S8.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  9 

knew  her  but  very  slightly,  as  she  was  remarkably  re- 
served. "  More  than  reserved/'  cried  General  Bade,  "  she 
was  quite  cold.  Yet  she  loved  London  and  public  life, 
and  Fairly  ndver  had  any  taste  for  them  ;  in  that  they  were 
very  mal  assortie,  but  in  all  other  things  A-ery  happy." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  "  and  how  shall  we 
give  ]Draise  enough  to  a  man  that  would  be  happy  himself, 
and  make  his  wife  so  too,  for  all  that  difference  of  opinion  ? 
for  it  was  all  his  management,  and  good  address,  and  good 
temper.     I  hardly  know  such  another  man." 

General  Bude  then  related  many  circumstances  of  his 
most  exemplary  conduct  during  the  illness  of  his  poor  suf- 
fering wife,  and  after  her  loss  ;  everybody,  indeed,  upon 
the  occasion  of  this  new  appointment,  has  broke  foith 
to  do  justice  to  his  deserving  it.  Mrs.  Ariana  Egerton,  who 
came  twice  to  drink  tea  with  me  on  my  being  senza  Cerhera, 
told  me  that  her  brother-in-law,  Colonel  Masters,  who  had 
served  with  him  at  Gibraltar,  protested  there  was  not  an 
officer  in  the  army  of  a  nobler  and  higher  character,  both 
professional  and  personal 

She  asked  me  a  thousand  questions  of  what  I  thought 
about  Miss  Fuzilier  ?  She  dislikes  her  so  very  much,  she 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  her  becoming  Mrs.  Fairly.  She 
has  met  with  some  marks  of  contempt  from  her  in  their 
official  meetings  at  St.  James's,  that  cannot  be  pardoned. 
Miss  Fuzilier,  indeed,  seemed  to  me  formerly,  when  I  used 
to  meet  her  in  company,  to  have  an  uncertainty  of  dispo- 
sition that  made  her  like  two  persons  ;  now  haughty, 
silent,  and  supercilious  —  and  then  gentle,  composed,  and 
interesting.  She  is,  however,  very  little  liked,  the  worst 
being  always  what  most  spreads  abroad. 

The  Queen  was  all  graciousness,  unmixed,  to  me,  during 
this  recess  of  La  Compagne  ;  whenever  she  did  not  attend 


10  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS    '  [1788. 

the  early  prayers  she  almost  regularly  gave  to  me  their 
time,  coming  to  my  room,  and  there  staying  till  the  King 
returned.  She  lent  me  books,  talked  them  over,  and 
opened  upon  a  thousand  confidential  topics ;  and  the 
excellence  of  her  understanding  and  acuteness  of  her 
observation  never  fail  to  make  all  discourse  with  her  lively 
and  informing. 

I  saw  all  I  could  see  of  my  poor  Mrs.  Astley,  who  is 
settled,  by  way  of  keeping  the  house,  in  the  loved  mansion 
of  the  most  venerable  and  perfect  of  human  beings  —  hu- 
man now  no  longer  —  but  perfect,  I  trust,  with  a  per- 
fection above  our  comprehension  !  Nothing,  however,  is 
yet  arranged  as  to  her  pension,  &c.,  which  grieves  and  dis- 
tresses me  beyond  measure. 

September  4th.  —  To-day  there  was  a  drawing-room, 
and  I  had  the  blessing  of  my  dearest  father  while  it  lasted ; 
but  not  solus  —  he  was  accompanied  by  my  mother  ;  and 
my  dear  Esther  and  her  little  innocent  Sophy  spent  part 
of  the  time  with  us.  I  am  to  be  god-mother  to  the  two 
little  ones,  Esther's  and  James's.     Heaven  bless  them ! 

We  returned  to  Kew  to  a  late  dinner ;  and,  indeed,  I 
had  one  of  the  severest  evenings  .1  ever  passed,  where  my 
heart  took  no  share  in  unkindness  and  injustice.  I  was 
wearied  in  the  extreme,  as  I  always  am  on  these  drawing- 
room  days,  which  begin  with  full  hair- dressing  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  hardly  ever  allow  any  break- 
fast time,  and  certainly  only  standing,  except  while  frizzing, 
till  the  drawing-room  commences  ;  and  then  two  journeys 
in  that  decked  condition  —  and  then  another  dressing,  with 
three  dressing  attendances  —  and  a  dinner  at  near  seven 
o'clock. 

Yet,  not  having  power  to  be  very  amusing  after  all  this, 
I  was  sternly  asked  by  ]\frs.  Schwellenberg,  "  For  what  I 
did  not  talk  ? "     I  answered  simply,  "  Because  I  was  tired." 


1788.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  11 

"  You  tired !  —  what  have  you  done  ?  when  I  used  to  do 
so  much  more  —  you  tired  !  what  have  you  to  do  but  to  be 
happy  ?  —  have  you  the  laces  to  buy  ?  have  you  the  ward- 
robe to  part  ?  have  you  —  you  tired  ?  Veil,  what  will 
become  next,  when  you  have  every  happiness  !  —  you 
might  not  be  tired.     No,  I  can't  bear  it."  A 

This,  and  so  much  more  than  it  would  be  possible  to 
w^ite,  all  uttered  with  a  haughtiness  and  contempt  that  the 
lowest  servant  could  not  have  brooked  receiving,  awoke 
me  prett}''  completely,  though  before  I  was  scarce  able  to 
keep  my  eyelids  a  moment  open  ;  but  so  sick  I  turned, 
that  indeed  it  was  neither  patience  nor  effort  that  enabled 
me  to  hear  her :  I  had  literally  hardly  strength,  mental  or 
bodily,  to  have  answered  her.  Every  happiness  mine  !  — 
0  gracious  heaven  !  thought  I,  and  is  this  the  companion 
of  my  leisure  —  the  associate  of  my  life  !  Ah,  my  dear 
friends,  I  will  not  now  go  on  —  I  turn  sick  again. 

I  kept  on  no  more  journal  till  my  most  loved  friends  ar- 
rived, the  10th  of  this  month,  and  departed,  the  16th.  Oh, 
they  will  here  see,  by  those  last  few  words,  how  seasonable 
was  their  sweet  visit ;  how  necessary  to  cheer  the  mournful 
murmurings  of  such  a  livelong  life. 

September  22nd.  —  This  day  was  all  dressing  again,  to 
commemorate  the  Coronation.  I  hate  the  parade  and 
trouble  of  these  days,  but  must  surely  bear  it,  for  a  memo- 
rial of  the  period  that  gave  us  such  a  King  —  so  good  he 
is,  so  benevolent,  so  disinterested,  so  amiable. 

All  are  in  preparation  for  Princess  Eoyal,  whose  birth- 
day concludes  this  month ;  that  is,  keeping  it  one  day,  and 
resting  from  it  another. 

September  27th.  —  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  not  being  well 
enough  to  come  down  to  tea,  I  invited  Madame  de  la  Fite, 
as  I  knew  there  would  be  a  larger  party  to  be  ready  for 
Monday's  birthday.     And,  accordingly,  added  to  Colonel 


12  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

Goldsworthy,  who  has  now  his  three  months'  waiting,  were 
General  Bude,  Mr.  Blomberg,  and  Colonel  Welbred.  It 
quite  lightened  me  to  see  this  last,  and  he  was  more  lively 
and  animated  than  usual.  He  took-  his  old  seat,  Mr.  Tur- 
bulent not  being  present,  and  gave  me  a  full  history  how 
he  had  passed  his  summer ;  which,  as  usual,  was  in  follow- 
ing up  beautiful  prospects,  and  bringing  home  their  prin- 
cipal points. 

He  had  been  also,  he  said,  to  Cheltenham,  since  our 
departure  :  "  And  there  I  was  very  happy  to  see  how  beau- 
tiful a  view  you  had  from  your  room  upstairs."  I  laughed 
heartily,  and  asked  "  How  he  should  know  my  room  ?  " 

"  I  know  both  your  rooms,"  he  cried.  "  It  would  be 
hard  to  say  which  was  least  worth  your  knowing,"  cried  I, 
"  for  one  was  a  garret,  the  other  a  store-room." 

"  Yes,  I  was  sorry  for  your  parlor,  but  above-stairs  the 
view  might  compensate  for  the  smallness  of  the  apart- 
ment." He  told'  me  the  house  was  now  shown  to  all 
travellers,  with  the  names  of  every  inhabitant  during  the 
Eoyal  visit. 

September  29th.  — The  birthday  of  our  lovely  eldest 
Princess.  It  happens  to  be  also  the  birthday  of  Miss 
Goldsworthy ;  and  her  Majesty,  in  a  sportive  humor,  bid 
me,  as  soon  as  she  was  dressed,  go  and  bring  down  the  two 
"  Michaelmas  geese."  I  told  the  message  to  the  Princess 
Augusta,  who  repeated  it  in  its  proper  words.  I  attended 
them  to  the  Queen's  dressing-room,  and  there  had  the 
pleasure  to  see  the  caclcavx  presentations.  The  birth- 
days in  this  house  are  made  extremely  interesting  at  the 
moment,  by  the  reciprocations  of  presents  and  congratula- 
tions in  this  affectionate  family.  Were  they  but  attended 
with  less  of  toil  (I  hate  to  add  ctte,  for  I  am  sure  it  is  not 
little  toil),  I  should  like  them  amazingly. 

At  noon  I  received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Majendie,  begging 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  13 

a  hint  how  to  cotne  dressed,  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  had 
invited  her  to  dinner. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  being  too  much  indisposed  to  come 
downstairs,  I  could  not  but  marvel  at  her  not  acquainting 
me  she  had  invited  company  to  the  table  of  which,  per- 
force, I  must  be  deputy-receiver.  However,  the  marvel 
rested  not  here ;  for  when  dinner  wai  called,  and  I  opened 
my  door  to  be  ready  to  follow  Mrs.  Majendie,  as  she 
descended  from  making  her  compliments  upstairs  to  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  —  not  Mrs.  Majendie  alone  had  I  to  follow 
—  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Majendie,  Miss  Goldsworthy,  Madame 
la  Fite,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  Miss  Mawr,  Mr.  Turbulent, 
and  Mdlle.  Montmoulin. 

I  disguised  my  surprise  at  this  great  group  as  well  as 
I  could,  lest  to  them  it  should  prove  as  awkward  as  to 
me ;  and  I  passed  them,  to  take  my  seat,  with  all  the 
ease  I  could  assume.  But  I  think  it  was  a  tolerable 
stroke  of  power,  to  invite  such  a  party  to  a  table  at 
which  another  must  preside,  without  the  slightest  hint  of 
her  purpose. 

The  dinner,  Iiowever,  was  cheerful  and  lively  :  they  were 
all  intimate  with  one  another,  and  none  pretended  to  be 
saddened  at  the  absence. 

September  30th.  —  This  month  concluded  with  a  very 
singular  confidence.  I  had  a  private  visit  from  Miss 
Mawr :  she  came  to  borrow  a  book  to  while  away  some 
of  the  time  she  spent  in  waiting  till  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
could  receive  her,  who  always  summoned  her  some  time 
before  she  was  ready.  But  she  besought  me  not  to  men- 
tion she  had  called  ;  "  For,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  she  said, 
"  I  should  never  be  forgiven  if  it  was  known  I  called  for 
a  moment ! " 

I  could  not  doubt  the  trutli  of  this,  though  its  plainness 
surprised  me ;  but  she  said,  relying  on  my  honor,  she  must 


14  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

tell  me  something  more,  that  had  struck  her  with  such  an 
indignation  for  me  she  could  not  conceal  it.  The  day 
before,  when  all  her  company  was  assembled  upstairs, 
before  dinner,  she  publicly  asked  Miss  Goldsworthy  to  do 
the  honors  of  her  table,  as  she  was  not  well  enough  to  do 
them  herself ! 

"  I  was  quite  glad,"*  she  added,  "  that  you  knew  nothing 
of  it,  and  so  passed  on  so  innocently  to  your  proper  place  ; 
and  I  'm  sure  they  were  all  glad,  for  everybody  stared. 
But  I  must  beg  you  never  so  much  as  to  say  I  ever  called 
upon  you,  for  she  can't  bear  it !  she 's  so  jealous.  And 
now  I  must  go  !  for  if  she  should  hear  me  here  she  '11  never 
forgive  it,  and  she 's  always  listening  what  voices  she  can 
hear  in  your  room." 

She  then  confessed  she  often  thought  me  strangely  used 
in  many  ways,  and  slighted,  and  contradicted,  and  dealt 
with  very  rudely,  but  it  was  all  from  jealousy,  and  so  must 
be  passed  over.  Yet  she  owned,  for  herself,  it  was  a  life 
not  to  be  endured  ;  that  the  greatest  penance  she  ever  suf- 
fered was  making  these  visits,  which,  also,  she  never  con- 
sented to  till  she  had  refused  as  often  as  she  dared. 

Something  there  is,  I  know  not  what,  of  unhappy  obliga- 
tion to  her,  that  compels  this  intercourse  ;  but  she  assured 
me,  were  it  of  a  sort  to  last,  she  should  break  it,  to  live  on 
bread  and  water  in  preference  !  and  she  pitied  me,  with  a 
good-nature  that  quite  made  me  friends  with  her,  for  so 
sad  a  lot  as  falling  into  such  hands. 

To  live  upon  bread  and  water  —  ah  !  were  that  my  only 
difficulty ! 

I  am  glad,  however,  I  did  not  know  this  intended  af- 
front ;  it  would  higlily  have  embarrassed  me  how  to  act, 
and  I  was  embarrassed  enough  without  it.  Two  years 
ago  I  should  have  rejoiced  at  any  proposition  that  took 
from  me  the  presidency  of  the  table ;  but  now,  after  two 


1788. J  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  15 

years  keeping  it,  whenever  its  first  claimant  was  absent, 
it  would  have  been  a  disgrace  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
house  to  have  had  it  thus  suddenly  taken  away  ;  and  such 
was  its  palpable  meaning. 

After  we  all  came  downstairs,  except  Miss  Mawr,  she 
inquired  whether  Miss  Goldsworthy  had  sat  at  the  head  of 
the  table.  Miss  Mawr  was  afraid  to  answer,  and  she  asked 
Westerhaults,  who  said  No  ;  and  she  expressed  great  anger 
and  displeasure  that  her  commands  were  thus  disregarded 
at  her  own  table  ! 

She  felt,  however,  too  strongly,  that  she  here  attempted 
an  exertion  of  caprice  and  power  beyond  her  right,  to  ven- 
ture at  speaking  of  it  to  me  ;  she  knew  it  was  a  trial  of 
tyranny  as  unauthorized  as  it  was  unprovoked,  and  that  it 
could  not  stand  the  test  of  resistance  even  from  the  person 
whom  she  thinks  an  object  for  her  to  trample  upon.  She 
has  become,  however,  both  colder  and  fiercer  ever  since : 
I  cannot  now  even  meet  her  eyes  —  they  are  almost  ter- 
rifying. 

Nothing  upon  earth  having  passed  between  us,  nor  the 
most  remote  subject  of  offence  having  occurred,  I  have 
only  one  thing  on  which  to  rest  my  conjectures,  for  the 
cause  of  this  newly-awakened  evil  spirit,  and  this  is  from 
the  gentlemen.  They  had  all  of  late  been  so  wearied  that 
they  could  not  submit  even  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  her 
society :  they  had  swallowed  a  dish  of  tea  and  quitted  the 
room  all  in  five  minutes,  and  Colonel  Goldsworthy  in  par- 
ticular, when  without  any  companion  in  his  waiting,  had 
actually  always  fallen  asleep,  even  during  that  short  inter- 
val, or  at  least  shut  his  eyes,  to  save  himself  the  toil  of 
speaking. 

This  she  brooked  very  ill,  but  I  was  esteemed  innocent, 
and  therefore  made,  occasionally,  the  confidant  of  her  com- 
plaints.    But  lately,  that  she  has  been  ill,  and  kept  up- 


16.  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

stairs  every  night,  she  has  always  desired  me  to  come  to 
her  as  soon  as  tea  was  over,  which,  she  observed,  "  need 
not  keep  me  five  minutes."  On  the  contrary,  however, 
the  tea  is  now  at  least  an  hour,  and  often  more. 

I  have  been  constantly  received  with  reproaches  for  not 
coming  sooner,  and  compelled  to  declare  I  had  not  been 
sooner  at  liberty.  This  has  occasioned  a  deep  and  visible 
resentment,  all  against  them,  yet  vented  upon  me,  not  in 
acknowledged  displeasure — pride  there  interfered  —  but 
in  constant  ill-humor,  ill-breeding,  and  ill-will.  At  length, 
however,  she  has  broken  out  into  one  inquiry,  which,  if 
favorably  answered,  might  have  appeased  all ;  but  truth 
■was  too  strongly  in  the  way.  A  few  evenings  after  her 
confinement  she  gravely  said,  "  Colonel  Goldsworthy  al- 
ways sleeps  with  me  !  sleeps  he  with  you  the  same  ? "  In 
the  midst  of  all  my  irksome  discomfort,  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty I  could  keep  my  countenance  at  this  question,  whicli 
I  was  forced  to  negative. 

The  next  evening  she  repeated  it.  "  Veil,  sleeps  he  yet 
with  you  —  Colonel  Goldsworthy  ?  "  "  ISTot  yet,  ma'am,"  I 
hesitatingly  answered.  "  0  !  ver  veil !  he  will  sleep  with 
nobody  but  me  I  0,  I  von't  come  down."  And  a  little 
while  after  she  added,  "  I  believe  he  vill  marry  you  !  " 
"  I  believe  not,  ma'am,"  I  answered.  And  then,  very 
gravely,  she  proposed  him  to  me,  saying  he  only  wanted 
a  little  encouragement,  for  he  was  always  declaring  he 
wished  for  a  wife,  and  yet  wanted  no  fortune  —  "  so  for 
what  won't  you  not  have  him  ?  "  I  assured  her  we  were  both 
perfectly  well  satisfied  apart,  and  equally  free  from  any 
thoughts  of  each  other.  "Then  for  what,"  she  cried, 
"  won't  you  have  Dr.  Shepherd  ?  " 

She  is  now  in  the  utmost  haste  to  dispose  of  me!  and 
then  she  added  she  had  been  told  that  Dr.  Shepherd  would 
marry  me  !     She  is  an  amazing  woman  !     Alas,  I  might 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  17 

have  told  her  I  knew  too  well  what  it  was  to  be  tied 
to  a  companion  ill-assorted  and  unbeloved,  where  I  could 
not  help  myself,  to  make  any  such  experiment  as  a  vol- 
unteer ! 

If  she  asks  me  any  more  about  Colonel  Goldsworthy 
and  his  sleeping,  I  think  I  will  answer  I  am  too  near- 
sighted to  be  sure  if  he  is  awake  or  not !  However,  I 
cannot  but  take  this  stroke  concerning  the  table  extremely 
ill ;  for  though  amongst  things  of  the  very  least  conse- 
quence in  itself,  it  is  more  openly  designed  as  an  affront 
than  any  step  that  has  been  taken  with  me  yet.  I  have 
given  the  Colonel  a  hint,  however  —  that  he  may  keep 
awake  in  future. 

Perhaps  a  part  of  this  increased  ill-will  may  arise  from 
my  having  been  of  the  Cheltenham  party,  where  she  could 
not  go,  from  want  of  room  for  her  four  servants.  And 
however  little  I  may  have  to  do  with  these  regulations,  I 
am  quite  the  most  convenient  person  to  receive  the  ill 
fruits  of  her  disappointments.  Well,  the  month  is  passed, 
however,  and  here  ends  its  recital. 

October  2nd.  —  What  a  sweet  noon  had  I  this  day  — 
my  beloved  father,  my  tender  Susanna,  my  little  darling 
Fanny  !  —  How  should  I  love  the  drawing-room  days,  with 
all  their  toil,  had  they  more  frequently  such  cheers.  Dear- 
est, dearest  Susanna !  Oh,  how  my  heart  dwelt  upon  the 
little  sight  all  the  rest  of  the  softened  day  !  And  I  had 
leisure  for  repose  to  the  poor  mind,  since  I  returned  to 
Kew  senza  Cerhcra. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  very  ill  indeed,  took  leave  of  the 
Queen  at  St.  James's,  to  set  off  for  Weymouth,  in  com- 
pany with  Mrs.  Hastings.  I  was  really  very  sorry  for  her ; 
she  was  truly  in  a  situation  of  suffering,  from  bodily  pain, 
the  most  pitiable.  I  thought,  as  I  looked  at  her,  that  if 
the  ill-humors  I  so  often  experience  could  relieve  lier,  I 


18  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

woiild  consent  to  bear  them  unrepining,  in  preference  to 
seeing  or  knowing  her  so  ill.  But  it  is  just  the  contrary  ; 
spleen  and  ill-temper  only  aggravate  disease,  and  while 
they  involve  others  in  temporary  participation  of  their 
misery,  twine  it  around  themselves  in  bandages  almost  sta- 
tionary. She  was  civil,  too,  poor  woman.  I  suppose  when 
absent  she  could  not  well  tell  why  she  had  ever  been  other- 
wise. 

Windsor,  October  9th.  — I  go  on  now  pretty  well ;  and 
I  am  so  much  acquainted  with  my  party,  that  when  no 
strangers  are  added,  I  begin  to  mind  nothing  but  the  first 
entrde  of  my  male  visitants.  My  Royal  mistress  is  all 
sweetness  to  me  ;  Miss  Planta  is  most  kind  and  friendly  ; 
General  Bude  is  ever  the  same,  and  ever  what  I  do  not 
wish  to  alter ;  Colonel  Goldsworthy  seems  coming  round  to 
good-humor ;  and  even  General  Grenville  begins  to  grow 
sociable.  He  has  quitted  the  corner  into  which  he  used  to 
cast  his  long  figure,  merely  to  yawn  and  lounge  ;  and 
though  yawn  and  lounge  he  does  still,  and  must,  I  believe, 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  he  yet  does  it  in  society,  and 
mixes  between  it  loud  sudden  laughter  at  what  is  occa- 
sionally said,  and  even  here  and  there  a  question  relative 
to  what  is  going  forward.  Nay  —  yesterday  he  even  seated 
himself  at  the  tea-table,  and  amused  himself  by  playing 
with  my  work-box,  and  making  sundry  inquiries  about  its 
contents. 

So  now,  I  believe,  I  am  entered  into  good-fellowship 
with  them  all.  I  have  also  a  good  deal  of  leisure,  and  it  is 
quiet  and  uncontrolled.  So,  altogether,  things  never  have 
been  smoother,  though  serenity  cannot  well  liave  less  of 
interest  in  it.  Serenity,  however,  it  is,  and  gratefully  I 
welcome  it. 

October  10th.  —  This  evening,  most  unwittingly,  I  put 
my  new  neighbor's  good-humor  somewhat  to  the  test.     He 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY,  19 

asked  me  whether  I  had  walked  out  in  the  morning  ?  Yes, 
I  answered,  I  always  walked.  "  And  in  the  Little  Park  ?  " 
cried  he.  Yes,  I  said,  and  to  Old  Windsor,  and  round  the 
park  wall,  and  along  the  banks  of  the  Tham'es,  and  almost 
to  Beaumont  Lodge,  and  in  the  avenue  of  the  Great  Park, 
and  in  short,  in  all  the  vicinage  of  Windsor.  "  But  in  the 
Little  Park  ?  "  he  cried.  Still  I  did  not  understand  him, 
but  plainly  answered,  "  Yes,  this  morning ;  and  indeed 
many  mornings."  "  But  did  you  see  nothing  —  remark 
nothing  there  ?  "  "  Xo,  not  that  I  recollect,  except  some 
soldiers  drilling."  You  never  heard  such  a  laugh  as  now 
broke  forth  from  all  —  for,  alas  for  my  poor  eyes,  there 
had  been  in  the  Little  Park  General  Grenville's  whole 
regiment,  with  all  his  officers,  and  himself  at  their  head  ! 
Fortunately  it  is  reckoned  one  of  the  finest  in  the  King's 
service :  this  I  mentioned,  adding  that  else  I  could  never 
again  appear  before  him. 

He  affected  to  be  vehemently  affronted,  but  hardly  knew 
how,  even  in  joke,  to  appear  so ;  and  all  the  rest  helped  the 
matter  on,  by  saying  they  should  know  now  how  to  distin- 
guish his  regiment,  which  henceforth  must  always  be  called 
"  the  drill. "  The  truth  is,  as  soon  as  I  perceived  a  few 
red-coats  I  had  turned  another  way,  to  avoid  being  marched 
at,  and  therefore  their  number  and  splendor  had  all  been 
thrown  away  upon  me. 

Sunday,  12th. — At  the  cathedral  this  morning  the 
good  Mdlle.  Montmoulin  told  me  she  had  just  got  thirteen 
Swiss  friends  who  were  come  to  Windsor  to  see'her,  and 
they  all  would  like  to  see  me.  I  made  my  excuse  pretty 
honestly,  but  she  urged  me  to  do  it  with  a  simplicity  very 
amusing,  crying,  "  Oh,  if  you  won't  know  my  friends,  you 
don't  love  me !  my  dear  Miss  Burney !  and  that  is  very  a 
little  ingrate,  for  I  love  you  so  moch  !  'pon  m'honneur,  my 
dear  Miss  Burney  ! " 


20  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

Still  I  assured  her  I  could  not  encounter  so  many  stran- 
gers. "  Well,  look  then,  now,  and  they  will  see  you  a 
littel ! "  I  told  her  I  could  not  distinguish  them  across 
the  cathedral. 

"  Oh, "  she  said,  "  you  have  such  short  eyes  ! " 

I  have  made  Madame  la  -Fite  very  happy  by  inviting  her 
for  next  Friday  evening  to  tea,  to  meet  Mr.  Fairly.  He  is 
the  only  person  of  the  establishment  that  she  thinks  has 
any  merit  beyond  the  chace ;  and  she  can  never  forget  his 
having  said  of  her,  just  before  we  went  to  Cheltenham, 
"  Why,  what  have  you  done  to  Madame  la  Fite  ?  she  used 
to  be  so  prim !  and  now  she  is  foremost  in  conversation. " 
She  is  charmed  to  have  a  change  remarked  that  she  is 
always  addressing  to  me  as  a  compliment,  and  she  says,  in 
return,  que  ce  M.  Fairly  a  le  mime  gout,  puisque  she  never 
remembered  him  so  full  of  discourse. 

Tuesday,  14th.  —  This  evening  I  had  again  one  of  my 
old  newspaper  vexations.  I  observed  my  beaux  communi- 
cating something  one  from  the  other,  but  softly,  just  as 
they  were  retiring  to  the  concert -room,  Colonel  Goldsworthy 
marched  up  to  my  tea-table,  and  hastily  saying  "There, 
ma'am, "  he  put  a  newspaper  on  the  table,  and  hurried  out 
of  the  room  with  the  greatest  speed. 

I  read  this  paragraph :  —  "  The  literary  silence  of  Miss 
Burney  at  present  is  much  to  be  regretted.  No  novelist  of 
the  present  time  has  a  title  to  such  public  commendation 
as  that  lady ;  her  characters  are  drawn  with  originality  of 
design  and  strength  of  coloring,  and  her  morality  is  of  the 
purest  and  most  elevated  sort. " 

You  will  say,  perhaps,  Why  be  vexed  ?  Why,  my  dearest 
friends,  because  every  mention  alarms  me ;  I  know  not 
what  may  follow;  and  the  original  repugnance  to  being 
known  returns  with  every  panic.  Indeed  the  more  and 
the  longer  I  look  around  me,  the  greater  appears  the  danger 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  21 

of  all  public  notice  !  Panegyric  is  as  near  to  envy  as  abuse 
is  to  disgrace. 

Friday,  October  17th.  —  The  King  is  not  well;  he  has 
not  been  quite  well  some  time,  yet  nothing  I  hope  alarm- 
ing, though  there'  is  an  uncertainty  as  to  his  complaint  not 
very  satisfactory ;  so  precious,  too,  is  his  health. 

Saturday,  October  18th.  —  The  King  was  this  morning 
better.  My  Eoyal  mistress  told  me  Sir  George  Baker 
was  to  settle  whether  we  returned  to  Windsor  to-day  or 
to-morrow. 

Sunday,  October  19th.  —The  Windsor  journey  is  again 
postponed,  and  the  King  is  but  very  indifferent.  Heaven 
preserve  him  !  there  is  something  unspeakably  alarming  in 
his  smallest  indisposition. 

I  am  very  much  with  the  Queen,  who,  I  see,  is  very 
uneasy,  but  sh6  talks  not  of  it.  She  reads  Hunter's 
"  Discourses, "  and  talks  chiefly  upon  them. 

I  showed  her  to-day  an  excellent  and  very  original  letter 
I  have  received  from  good  Mr.  Hutton ;  but  he  concludes 
it,  "  I  am,  dear  miss,  your  affectionate  humble  servant.  " 

"  Affectionate  ?  "  she  repeated,  "  I  did  not  know  he  was 
so  tender. " 

We  are  to  stay  here  some  time  longer,  and  so  imprepared 
were  we  for  more  than  a  day  to  two,  that  our  distresses  are 
prodigious,  even  for  clothes  to  wear ;  and  as  to  books,  there 
are  not  three  amongst  us ;  and  for  company,  only  Mr.  de 
Luc  and  Miss  Planta ;  and  so,  in  mere  desperation  for  em- 
ployment, I  have  just  begun  a  tragedy.  We  are  now  in  so 
spiritless  a  situation  that  my  mind  would  bend  to  nothing- 
less  sad,  even  in  fiction.  But  I  am  very  glad  something 
of  this  kind  has  occurred  to  me ;  it  may  while  away 
the  tediousness  of  this  unsettled,  unoccupied,  unpleasant 
period. 


22  DIAEY   AND    LETTERS  [1788. 

Monday,  October  20th.  —  The  King  was  taken  very  ill 
in  the  night,  and  we  have  all  been  cruelly  frightened ;  but 
it  went  off,  and,  thank  Heaven  !  he  is  now  better. 

I  had  all  my  morning  devoted  to  receiving  inquiring 
visits.  Lady  Eflingham,  Sir  George  Howard,  Lady  Frances 
Howard,  all  came  from  Stoke  to  obtain  news  of  the  King ; 
his  least  illness  spreads  in  a  moment. 

Mr.  Turbulent  has  been  sent  for,  and  he  enlivens  the 
scene  somewhat.  He  is  now  all  he  should  be,  and  so  al- 
tered !  scarce  a  flight  left.  He  has  opened  his  mind  to  me 
very  much  with  regard  to  his  affairs,  &c.,  and  this  is  a 
species  of  confidence  I  encourage  to  the  utmost :  it  has 
that  style  of  friendliness  that  interests  with  propriety,  and 
it  gives  safe  yet  animating  matter  for  tete-^-tetes,  and 
those  are  unavoidable  at  times,  situated  as  we  now  are. 

Tuesday,  Oct.  21st.  —  The  good  and  excellent  King  is 
again  better,  and  we  expect  to  remove  to  Windsor  in  a  day 
or  two. 

Thursday,  Oct.  23rd.  —  The  King  continues  to  niend, 
thank  God !  Saturday  we  hope  to  return  to  Windsor. 
Had  not  this  composition  fit  seized  me,  societyless,  and 
bookless,  and  viewless  as  I  am,  I  know  not  how  I  could 
have  whiled  away  my  being ;  but  my  tragedy  goes  on,  and 
fills  up  all  vacancies. 

Saturday,  Oct.  25th.  —  Yesterday  was  so  much  the 
same,  I  have  not  marked  it ;  not  so  to-day.  The  King  was 
so  much  better  that  our  Windsor  journey  at  length  took 
place,  with  permission  of  Sir  George  Baker,  the  only  phy- 
sician his  Majesty  will  admit.  Miss  Cambridge  was  with 
me  to  the  last  moment. 

I  have  been  hanging  up  a  darling  remembrance  of  my 
revered,  incomparable  Mrs.  Delany.  Her  Saccharissa  is 
now  over  my  chimney.  I  could  not  at  first  bear  it,  but 
now  I  look  at  it,  and  call  her  back  to  my  mind's  eye  per- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   d'ARBLAY.  23 

petually.     This,  like  the  tragedy  I  have  set  about,  suits 
the  turn  of  things  in  this  habitation. 

I  had  a  sort  of  conference  with  his  Majesty,  or  rather 
I  was  the  object  to  whom  he  spoke,  with  a  manner  so  un- 
common, that  a  high  fever  alone  could  account  for  it ;  a 
rapidity,  a  hoarseness  of  voice,  a  volubility,  an  earnestness 
—  a  vehemence, rather — it  startled  me  inexpressibly;  yet 
with  a  graciousness  exceeding  even  all  I  ever  met  with 
before  —  it  was  almost  kindness  ! 

Heaven  —  Heaven  preserve  him!  The  Queen  grows 
more  and  more  uneasy.  She  alarms  me  sometimes  for 
herself,  at  other  times  she  has  a  sedateness  that  aston- 
ishes me  still  more. 

I  commune  now  with  my  dearest  friends  every  morning, 
upon  the  affairs  of  the  preceding  day.  Alas  !  how  little 
can  I  commune  with  them  in  any  other  way  ! 

Sunday,  Oct.  26th.  —  The  King  was  prevailed  upon  not 
to  go  to  chapel  this  morning.  I  met  him  in  the  passage 
from  the  Queen's  room ;  he  stopped  me,  and  conversed 
upon  his  health  near  half  an  hour,  still  with  that  extreme 
quickness  of  speech  and  manner  that  belongs  to  fever  ;  and 
he  hardly  sleeps,  he  tells  me,  one  minute  all  night ;  indeed, 
if  he  recovers  not  his  rest,  a  most  delirious  fever  seems  to 
threaten  him.  He  is  all  agitation,  all  emotion,  yet  all 
benevolence  and  goodness,  even  to  a  degree  that  makes  it 
touching  to  hear  him  speak.  He  assures  everybody  of  his 
health  ;  he  seems  only  fearful  to  give  uneasiness  to  others, 
yet  certainly  he  is  better  than  last  night.  Nobody  speaks 
of  his  illness,  nOr  what  they  think  of  it. 

The  Bishop  of  Peterborough  is  made  Dean  of  Durham, 
and  I  am  glad,  for  old  acquaintance  sake. 

Oct.  29th.  —  The  dear  and  good  King  again  gains 
ground,  and  the  Queen  becomes  easier. 

To-day  Miss  Planta  told  me  she  heard  Mr.  Faiiiy  was 


24  DIAEY   AND    LETTERS  [1783. 

confined  at  Sir  E F 's,  and  therefore  she  would 

now  lay  any  wager  he  was  to  marry  Miss  F .     In  the 

evening  I  inquired  what  news  of  him  of  General  Budd : 
he  told  me  he  was  still  confined  at  a  friend's  house,  but 
avoided  naming  where  —  probably  from  suggesting  that, 
however  little  truth  there  may  yet  have  been  in  the  report, 
more  may  belong  to  it  from  this  particular  intercourse. 

Saturday,  Nov.  1st.  —  Our  King  does  not  advance  in 
amendment ;  he  grows  so  weak  that  he  walks  like  a  gouty 
man,  yet  has  such  spirits  that  he  has  talked  away  his  voice, 
and  is  so  hoarse  it  is  painful  to  hear  him.  The  Queen  is 
evidently  iii  great  uneasiness.     God  send  him  better ! 

She  read  to  me  to-day  a  lecture  of  Hunter's. 

During  the  reading  this  morning,  twice,  at  pathetic  pas- 
sages, my  poor  Queen  shed  tears.  "  How  nervous  I  am  !" 
she  cried ;  "  I  am  quite  a  fool !  Don't  you  think  so  ? " 
"  No,  ma'am  ! "  was  all  I  dared  answer.  She  revived,  how- 
ever, finished  the  lecture,  and  went  upstairs  and  played 
upon  the  Princess  Augusta's  harpsichord. 

The  King  was  hunting.  Her  anxiety  for  his  return  was 
greater  than  ever.  The  moment  he  arrived  he  sent  a  page 
to  desire  to  have  coffee  and  take  his  bark  in  the  Queen's 
dressing-room.  She  said  she  would  pour  it  out  herself,  and 
sent  to  inquire  how  he  drank  it. 

The  King  is  very  sensible  of  the  great  change  there  is  in 
himself,  and  of  her  disturbance  at  it.  It  seems,  but  Heaven 
avert  it !  a  threat  of  a  total  breaking  up  of  the  constitu- 
tion. This,  too,  seems  his  own  idea.  I  was  present  at  his 
first  seeing  Lady  Effingham  on  his  return  to  Windsor  this 
last  time.  "  My  dear  Effy,"  he  cried,  "  you  see  me,  all  at 
once,  an  old  man." 

I  was  so  much  affected  by  this  exclamation,  that  I  wished 
to  run  out  of  the  room.  Yet  I  could  not  but  recover  when 
Lady  Effingham,  in  her  well-meaning  but  literal  way,  com- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  25 

posedly  answered,  "  We  must  all  grow  old,  sir ;  I  am  sure 
I  do."  He  then  produced  a  walking-stick  which  he  had 
just  ordered.  "  He  could  not,"  he  said,  "  get  on  without  it ; 
his  strength  seemed  diminishing  hourly." 

He  took  the  bark,  he  said ;  "  But  the  Queen,"  he  cried, 
"  is  my  physician,  and  no  man  need  have  a  better ;  she  is 
my  Friend,  and  no  man  can  have  a  better."  How  the 
Queen  commanded  herself  I  cannot  conceive  ;  but  there  was 
something  so  touching  in  this  speech,  from  his  hoarse  voice 
and  altered  countenance,  that  it  overset  me  very  much. 

Nor  can  I  ever  forget  him  in  what  passed  this  night. 
When  I  came  to  the  Queen's  dressing-room  he  was  still 
with  her.  He  constantly  conducts  her  to  it  before  he 
retires  to  his  own.  He  was  begging  her  not  to  speak  to 
him  when  he  got  to  his  room,  that  he  might  fall  asleep,  aa 
lie  felt  great  want  of  that  refreshment.  He  repeated  this 
desire,  I  believe,  at  least  a  hundred  times,  though,  far 
enough  from  needing  it,  the  poor  Queen  never  uttered  one 
syllable !  He  then  applied  to  me,  saying  he  was  really 
very  well,  except  in  that  one  particular,  that  he  could  not 
sleep. 

The  kindness  and  benevolence  of  his  manner  all  this 
time  was  most  penetrating :  he  seemed  to  have  no  anxiety 
but  to  set  the  Queen  at  rest,  and  no  wish  but  to  quiet  and 
give  pleasure  to  all  around  him.  To  me  he  never  yet  spoke 
with  such  excess  of  benignity  :  he  appeared  even  solicitous 
to  satisfy  me  that  he  should  do  well,  and  to  spare  all  alarm ; 
but  there  was  a  huriy  iu  his  manner  and  voice  that  indi- 
cated sleep  to  be  indeed  wanted.  Nor  could  I,  all  night, 
forbear  foreseeing  "  He  sleeps  now,  or  to-morrow  he  will 
be  surely  delirious  !  " 

Sunday,  November  2xd.  —  The  King  was  better,  and 
prevailed  upon  to  give  up  going  to  the  early  prayers.  The 
Queen  and  Princesses  went.     After  they  were  gone,  ^.nd  I 


26  ■  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

was  following  towards  my  room,  the  King  called  after  me, 
and  he  kept  me  in  discourse  a  full  half-hour ;  nearly  all 
the  time  they  were  away. 

It  was  all  to  the  same  purport ;  that  he  was  well,  but 
wanted  more  rest ;  yet  he  said  he  had  slept  the  last  night 
like  a  child.  But  his  manner,  still,  was  so  touchingly 
kind,  so  softly  gracious,  that  it  doubled  my  concern  to  see 
him  so  far  from  well. 

Monday,  November  3rd.  —  The  birthday  of  the  Princess 
Sophia.  I  had  received  the  beautiful  birthday  offering 
yesterday  from  my  Fredy,  and  this  morning  I  carried 
it  to  the  Lower  Lodge,  where  it  was  very  prettily  wel- 
comed. 

I  have  exerted  myself  to  do  the  honors  a  little  in  the 
establishment  on  Saturday  next  the  8th,  for  the  Princess 
Augusta's  birthday.  I  have  invited  Miss  Gomme  and 
Mdlle.  Montmoulin  to  dinner,  and  poor  Madame  la  Fite, 
who  is  also  to  stay  the  evening.  For  me,  this  is  being  very 
grand ;  but  the  truth  is,  I  find  it  wholly  expected  amongst 
the  household  on  the  elder  birthdays. 

However,  we  are  all  here  in  a  most  uneasy  state.  The 
King  is  better  and  worse  so  frequently,  and  changes  so, 
daily,  backwards  and  forwards,  that  everything  is  to  be 
apprehended,  if  his  nerves  are  not  some  way  quieted.  I 
dreadfully  fear  he  is  on  the  eve  of  some  severe  fever.  The 
Queen  is  almost  overpowered  with  some  secret  terror.  I 
am  affected  beyond  all  expression  in  her  presence,  to  see 
what  struggles  she  makes  to  support  serenity.  To-day  she 
gave  up  the  conflict  when  I  was  alone  with  her,  and  burst 
into  a  violent  fit  of  tears.  It  was  very,  very  terrible  to 
see  !  How  did  I  wish  her  a  Susan  or  a  Fredy !  To  un- 
burthen  her  loaded  mind  would  be  to  relieve  it  from  all 
but  inevitable  affliction.  Oh,  may  Heaven  in  its  mercy 
never,  never  drive  me  to  that  solitary  anguish  more  !  —  I 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  27 

have  tried  what  it  would  do ;  I  speak  from  hitter  recollec- 
tion of  past  melancholy  experience. 

Sometimes  she  walks  up  and  down  the  room  without 
uttering  a  word,  but  shaking  her  head  frequently,  and  in 
evident  distress  and  irresolution.  She  is  often  closeted  with 
Miss  Goldsworthy,  of  whom,  I  believe,  she  makes  inquiry 
how  her  brother  has  found  the  King,  from  time  to  time. 

The  Princes  both  came  to  Kew,  in  several  visits  to  the 
King.  The  Duke  of  York  has  also  been  here,  and  his 
fond  father  could  hardly  bear  the  pleasure  of  thinking 
him  anxious  for  his  health.  "So  good,"  he  says,  "is 
Frederick !  " 

To-night,  indeed,  at  tea-time,  I  felt  a  great  shock,  in 
hearing  from  General  Bud(^,  that  Dr.  Heberden  had  been 
called  in.  It  is  true  more  assistance  seemed  much  want- 
ing, yet  the  King's  rooted  aversion  to  physicians  makes 
any  new-comer  tremendous.  They  said,  too,  it  was  merely 
for  counsel,  not  that  his  Majesty  was  worse. 

Ah,  my  dearest  friends !  I  have  no  more  fair  running 
journal :  I  kept  not  now  even  a  memorandum  for  some 
time,  but  I  made  them  by  recollection  afterwards,  and  very 
fully,  for  not  a  circumstance  could  escape  a  memory  that 
seems  now  to  retain  nothing  but  present  events. 

I  will  copy  the  sad  period,  however,  for  my  Susan  and 
Fredy  will  wish  to  know  how  it  passed ;  and,  though  the 
very  prospect  of  the  task  involuntarily  dejects  me,  a  thou- 
sand things  are  connected  with  it  that  must  make  all  that 
can  follow  unintelligible  without  it. 

Tuesday,  November  4th.  —  Passed  much  the  same  as 
the  days  preceding  it ;  the  Queen  in  deep  distress,  the 
King  in  a  state  almost  incomprehensible,  and  all  the  house 
uneasy  and  alarmed.  The  drawing-room  was  again  put  off, 
and  a  steady  residence  seemed  fixed  at  Windsor. 


28  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

Wednesday,  November  5th.  —  Oh  dreadful  day  !  My 
very  heart  has  so  sickened  in  looking  over  my  memoran- 
dums, that  I  was  forced  to  go  to  other  employments.  I 
will  not,  however,  omit  its  narration.  'T  is  too  interesting 
ever  to  escape  my  own  memory,  and  my  dear  friends  have 
never  yet  had  the  beginning  of  the  thread  which  led 
to  all  the  terrible  scenes  of  which  they  have  variously 
heard. 

I  found  my  poor  Epyal  mistress,  in  the  morning,  sad  and 
sadder  still ;  something  horrible  seemed  impending,  and  I 
saw  her  whole  resource  was  in  religion.  We  had  talked 
lately  much  upon  solemn  subjects,  and  she  appeared 
already  preparing  herself  to  be  resigned  for  whatever 
might  happen. 

I  was  still  wholly  unsuspicious  of  the  greatness  of  the 
caiise  she  had  for  dread.  Illness,  a  breaking  up  of  the  con- 
stitution, the  payment  of  sudden  infirmity  and  premature 
old  age  for  the  waste  of  unguarded  health  and  strength  — 
these  seemed,  to  me  the  threats  awaiting  her;  and  great 
and  grievous  enough,  yet  how  short  of  the  fact ! 

I  had  given  up  my  walks  some  days ;  I  was  too  uneasy 
to  quit  the  house  while  tlie  Queen  remained  at  home,  and 
she  now  never  left  it.  Even  Lady  Effingham,  the  last  two 
days,  could  not  obtain  admission  ;  she  could  only  hear  from 
a  page  how  the  Royal  Family  went  on. 

At  noon  the  King  went  out  in  his  chaise,  with  the  Prin- 
cess Eoyal,  for  an  airing.  I  looked  from  my  window  to 
see  him ;  he  was  all  smiling  benignity,  but  gave  so  many 
orders  to  the  postilions,  and  got  in  and  out  of  the  carriage 
twice,  with  such  agitation,  that  again  my  fear  of  a  great 
fever  hanging  over  him  grew  more  and  more  powerful. 
Alas  !  how  little  did  I  imagine  I  should  see  him  no  more 
for  so  long  —  so  black  a  period  ! 

When  I  went  to  my  poor  Queen,  still  worse  and  worse 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  29 

I  found  her  spirits.  She  had  been  greatly  offended  by 
some  anecdote  in  a  newspaper  —  the  "Morning  Herald" — 
relative  to  the  King's  indisposition.  She  declared  the 
printer  should  be  called  to  account.  She  bid  me  burn  the 
paper,  and  ruminated  upon  who  could  be  employed  to  rep- 
resent to  the  editor  that  he  must  answer  at  his  peril  any 
further  such  treasonable  paragraphs.  I  named  to  her  Mr. 
Tairly,  her  own  servant,  and  one  so  peculiarly  fitted  for 
any  office  requiring  honor  and  discretion.  "  Is  he  here 
then  ? "  she  cried.  "  No,"  I  answered,  but  he  was  expected 
in  a  few  days.  I  saw  her  concurrence  with  this  proposal. 
The  Princess  Eoyal  soon  returned.  She  came  in  cheerfully, 
and  gave,  in  German,  a  history  of  the  airing,  and  one  that 
seemed  comforting.  Soon  after,  suddenly  arrived  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  He  came  into  the  room.  He  had  just 
quitted  Brighthelmstone.  Something  passing  within 
seemed  to  render  this  meeting  awfully  distant  on  both 
sides.  She  asked  if  he  should  not  return  to  Brighthelm- 
stone ?  He  answered  yes,  the  next  day.  He  desired  to 
speak  with  her  ;  they  retired  together. 

I  had  but  just  reached  my  own  room,  deeply  musing  on 
the  state  of  things,  when  a  chaise  stopped  at  the  rails  ;  and 
I  saw  Mr.  Fairly  and  his  son  Charles  alight,  and  enter  the 
house.  He  walked  lamely,  and  seemed  not  yet  recovered 
from  his  late  attack. 

Though  most  happy  to  see  him  at  this  alarming  time, 
when  I  knew  he  could  be  most  useful,  as  there  is  no  one  to 
whom  the  Queen  opens  so  confidentially  upon  her  affairs, 
I  had  yet  a  fresh  start  to  see,  by  his  anticipated  arrival, 
though  still  lame,  that  he  must  have  been  sent  for  and 
hurried  hither. 

Only  Miss  Planta  dined  with  me.  We  were  both  nearly 
silent :  I  was  shocked  at  I  scarcely  knew  what,  and  she 
seemed  to  know  too  much  for  speech.    She  stayed  with  me 


30  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

till  six  o'clock,  but  nothing  passed,  beyond  general  solici- 
tude that  the  King  might  get  better. 

To  keep  my  promise  with  Madame  la  Fite,  I  made 
Columb  go  and  watch  her  coming  to  Princess  Elizabeth, 
and  invite  her  for  tea.  Meanwhile,  a  stillness  the  most 
uncommon  reigned  over  the  whole  house.  Nobody  stirred ; 
not  a  voice  was  heard ;  not  a  motion.  I  could  do  notliing 
but  watch,  without  knowing  for  what:  there  seemed  a 
strangeness  in  the  house  most  extraordinary.  At  seven 
o'clock  Columb  came  to  tell  me  that  the  music  was  all 
forbid,  and  the  musicians  ordered  away  !  This  was  the 
last  step  to  be  expected,  so  fond  as  his  Majesty  is  of  his 
Concert,  and  I  thought  it  might  have  rather  soothed  him  : 
I  could  not  understand  the  prohibition ;  all  seemed  stranger 
and  stranger. 

At  eight  o'clock  Madame  la  Fite  came.  She  had  just 
left  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  left  her  very  miserable, 
but  knew  not  w^hy.  The  Queen,  too,  she  said,  was  ill. 
She  was  herself  in  the  dark,  or  thought  it  necessary  so  to 
seem. 

Very  late  came  General  Bude.  He  looked  extremely 
uncomfortable.  I  could  have  made  inquiries  of  him  with 
ease,  as  to  the  order  about  the  Court ;  but  he  loves  not 
to  open  before  poor  Madame  la  Fite. 

Later  still  came  Colonel  Goldsworthy :  his  countenance 
all  gloom,  and  his  voice  scarce  articulating  no  or  yes. 
General  Grenville  was  gone  to  town.  General  Bude  asked 
me  if  I  had  seen  Mr.  Fairly ;  and  last  of  all,  at  length  he 
also  entered. 

How  grave  he  looked  !  how  shut  up  in  himself !  A 
silent  bow  was  his  only  salutation  ;  how  changed  I  thought 
it  —  and  how  fearful  a  meeting,  so  long  expected  as  a 
solace  !  Scarce  a  word  was  spoken,  except  by  poor  Madame 
la  Fite,  who  made  some  few  attempts  to  renew  her  acquain- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   B'ARBLAY.  .  31 

tance  with  her  favorite,  but  they  were  vain.  He  was  all 
absorbed  in  distant  gravity. 

Colonel  Goldsworthy  was  called  away  :  I  heard  his  voice 
whispering  some  time  in  the  passage,  but  he  did  not  re- 
turn. Various  small  speeches  now  dropped,  by  which  I 
found  the  house  was  all  in  disturbance,  and  the  King  in 
some  strange  way  worse,  and  the  Queen  taken  ill.  Poor 
Madame  la  ilte,  disappointed  of  a  long-promised  evening, 
and  much  disturbed  by  the  general  face  of  things,  when  she 
had  drank  her  tea,  rose  to  go.  I  could  not  oppose,  and  Mr. 
Fairly  hastened  to  help  her  on  with  her  cloak,  and  to  open 
the  door. 

A  little  less  guardedly  now,  the  two  gentlemen  spoke  of 
the  state  of  the  house,  but  in  terms  so  alarming,  I  had  not 
courage  to  demand  an  explanation  ;  I  dreadfully  awaited 
to  catch  their  meaning,  gradually,  as  I  could,  unasked.  At 
length,  General  Bude  said  he  would  go  and  see  if  any  one 
was  in  the  music-room.  Mr.  Fairly  said  he  thought  he 
had  better  not  accompany  him,  for  as  he  had  not  yet  been 
seen,  his  •  appearance  might  excite  fresh  emotion.  The 
General  agreed  and  went.  We  were  now  alone.  But  I 
could  not  speak :  neither  did  Mr.  Fairly  ;  I  worked  —  I 
had  begun  a  hassock  for  my  Fredy.  A  long  and  serious 
pause  made  me  almost  turn  sick  with  anxious  wonder  and 
fear,  and  an  inward  trembling  totally  disabled  me  from 
asking  the  actual  situation  of  things  ;  if  I  had  not  had  my 
work,  to  employ  my  eyes  and  hands,  I  must  have  left  the 
room  to  quiet  myself.  I  fancy  he  penetrated  into  all  this, 
though,  at  first,  he  had  concluded  me  informed  of  every- 
thing ;  but  he  now,  finding  me  silent,  began  an  inquiry 
whether  I  was  yet  acquainted  how  bad  all  was  become, 
and  how  ill  the  King  ? 

I  really  had  no  utterance  for  very  alarm,  but  my  look 
was  probably  sufficient ;  he  kindly  saved  me  any  questions, 


32  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

and  related  to  me  the  whole  of  the  mysterious  horror! 
Oh,  my  dear  friends,  what  a  history  !  The  King,  at  dinner, 
had  broken  forth  into  positive  delirium,  which  long  had 
been  menacing  all  who  saw  him  most  closely ;  and  the 
Queen  w^as  so  overpowered  as  to  fall  into  violent  hysterics. 
All  the  Princesses  were  in  misery,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales 
had  burst  into  tears.  No  one  knew  what  was  to  follow  — 
no  one  could  conjecture  the  event. 

He  spoke  of  the  poor  Queen  in  terms  of  the  most  tender 
compassion ;  he  pitied  her,  he  said,  from  the  bottom  of  his 
soul ;  and  all  her  sweet  daughters,  the  lovely  Princesses  — 
there  was  no  knowing  to  what  we  might  look  forward  for 
them  all !  I  was  an  almost  silent  listener ;  but,  having 
expressed  himself  very  warmly  for  all  the  principal  suf- 
ferers, he  kindly,  and  with  interest,  examined  me.  "  How," 
he  cried,  "  are  you  ?  Are  you  strong  ?  are  you  stout  ?  — 
can  you  go  through  such  scenes  as  these  ?  you  do  not  look 
much  fitted  for  them." 

"  I  shall  do  very  well,"  I  cried,  "  for,  at  a  time  such  as 
this,  I  shall  surely  forget  myself  utterly.  The  Queen  will 
be  all  to  me.  I  shall  hardly,  I  think,  feel  myself  at  liberty 
to  be  unhappy  ! " 

He  was  not  yet  well  himself ;  he  had  had  an  attack  of 
gout  upon  the  road.  He  had  quitted  his  sister,  and,  in  a 
visit  in  the  journey  back,  he  was  seized.  He  had  the  ad- 
vantage, there,  of  very  good  medical  help.  He  got  on  to 
town  as  soon  as  it  was  possible,  and  meant  there  to  have 
nursed  himself  well  by  Saturday,  had  not  the  ill  accounts 
from  Windsor  hastened  him  hither  at  once.  He  stayed 
with  me  all  the  evening,  during  which  we  heard  no  voice, 
no  sound  !  all' was  deadly  still !  At  ten  o'clock  I  said,  "  I 
must  go  to  my  own  room,  to  be  in  waiting."  He  deter- 
mined upon  remaining  downstairs,  in  the  Equerries'  de- 
partment, there  to  wait  some  intelligence.     We  parted  in 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  33 

mutual  expectation  of  dreadful  tidings.  In  separating,  he 
took  my  hand,  and  earnestly  recommended  me  to  keep 
myself  stout  and  firm. 

If  this  beginning  of  the  night  was  affecting,  what  did  it 
not  grow  afterwards  !  Two  long  hours  I  waited  —  alone, 
in  silence,  in  ignorance,  in  dread  !  I  thought  they  would 
never  be  over ;  at  twelve  o'clock  I  seemed  to  have  spent 
two  whole  days  in  waiting.  I  then  opened  my  door,  to 
listen,  in  the  passage,  if  anything  seemed  stirring.  Not  a 
sound  could  I  hear.  My  apartment  seemed  wholly  sepa- 
rated from  life  and  motion.  Whoever  was  in  the  house 
kept  at  the  other  end,  and  not  even  a  servant  crossed  the 
stairs  or  passage  by  my  rooms. 

I  would  fain  have  crept  on  myself,  anywhere  in  the 
world,  for  some  inquiry,  or  to  see  but  a  face,  and  hear  a 
voice,  but  I  did  not  dare  risk  losing  a  sudden  summons. 

I  re-entered  ray  room,  and  there  passed  another  endless 
hour,  in  conjectures  too  horrible  to  relate.  A  little  after 
one,  I  heard  a  step  —  my  door  opened  —  and  a  page  said  I 
must  come  to  the  Queen.  I  could  hardly  get  along  — 
hardly  force  myself  into  the  room ;  dizzy  I  felt,  almost  to 
falling.  But  the  lirst  shock  passed,  I  became  more  col- 
lected. Useful,  indeed,  proved  the  previous  lesson  of  the 
evening :  it  had  stilled,  if  not  mortified  my  mind,  whicli 
had  else,  in  a  scene  such  as  this,  been  all  tumult  and  emo- 
tion. 

My  poor  Eoyal  mistress !  never  can  I  forget  her  coun- 
tenance—  pale,  ghastly  pale  she  looked;  she  was  seated 
to  be  undressed,  and  attended  by  Lady  Elizabeth  Walde- 
grave  and  Miss  Goldsworthy ;  her  whole  frame  was  dis- 
ordered, yet  she  was  still  and  quiet.  These  two  ladies 
assisted  me  to  undress  her,  or  rather  I  assisted  them,  for 
they  were  firmer,  from  being  longer  present ;  my  shaking 
hands  and  blinded  eyes  could  scarce  be  of  any  use.     I 


34  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

gave  her  some  camphor  julep,  which  had  been  ordered  her 
by  Sir  George  Baker.i  "  How  cold  I  am  !  "  she  cried,  and 
put  her  hand  on  mine ;  marble  it  felt !  and  went  to  my 
heart's  core  ! 

The  King,  at  the  instance  of  Sir  George  Baker,  had  con- 
sented to  sleep  in  the  next  apartment,  as  the  Queen  was 
ill.  For  himself,  he  would  listen  to  nothing  Accordingly 
a  bed  was  put  up  for  him,  by  his  own  order,  in  the  Queen's 
second  dressing-room,  immediately  adjoining  to  the  bed- 
room. He  would  not  be  further  removed.  Miss  Golds- 
worthy  was  to  sit  up  with  her,  by  the  King's  direction.  I 
would  fain  have  remained  in  the  little  dressing-room,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bed-room,  but  she  would  not  permit 
it.  She  ordered  Sandys,  her  wardrobe-woman,  in  the  place 
of  Mrs.  Thielky,  to  sit  up  there.  Lady  EHzabeth  also 
pressed  to  stay ;  but  we  were  desired  to  go  to  our  own 
rooms.  How  reluctantly  did  I  come  away  !  how  hardly  to 
myself  leave  her !  Yet  I  went  to  bed,  determined  to  pre- 
serve my  strength  to  the  utmost  of  my  ability,  for  the  ser- 
vice of  my  unhappy  mistress.  I  could  not,  however, 
sleep.  I  do  not  suppose  an  eye  was  closed  in  the  house 
all  night. 

Thursday,  November  6th.  — I  rose  at  six,  dressed  in 
haste  by  candle-light,  and  unable  to  wait  for  my  summons 
in  a  suspense  so  awful,  I  stole  along  the  passage  in  the 
dark,  a  thick  fog  intercepting  all  faint  light,  to  see  if  I 
could  meet  with  Sandys,  or  any  one,  to  tell  me  how  the 
night  had  passed. 

When  I  came  to  the  little  dressing-room,  I  stopped, 
irresolute  what  to  do.  I  heard  men's  voices ;  I  was  seized 
with  the  most  cruel  alarm  at  such  a  sound  in  her  Majesty's 
dressing-room.    I  waited  some  time,   and  then  the  door 

1  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  the  King,  horn  in  Devon,  1722,  created  a 
baronet  in  1766.     Died  in  1809. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  35 

opened,  and  I  saw  Colonel  Groldsworthy  and  Mr.  Batters- 
comb.  I  was  relieved  from  my  first  apprehension,  yet 
shocked  enough  to  see  them  there  at  this  early  hour. 
They  had  both  sat  up  there  all  night,  as  well  as  Sandys. 
Every  page,  both  of  the  King  and  Queen,  had  also  sat  up, 
dispersed  in  the  passages  and  ante-rooms  ;  and  0  what 
horror  in  every  face  I  met !  I  waited  here  amongst  them, 
till  Sandys  was  ordered  by  the  Queen  to  carry  her  a  pair 
of  gloves.  I  could  not  resist  the  opportunity  to  venture 
myself  before  her.  I  glided  into  the  room,  but  stopped  at 
the  door :  she  was  in  bed,  sitting  up ;  Miss  Goldsworthy 
was  on  a  stool  by  her  side  !  I  feared  approaching  without 
permission,  yet  could  not  prevail  with  myself  to  retreat. 
She  was  looking  down,  and  did  not  see  me.  Miss  Golds - 
worthy,  turning  round,  said,  "  'T  is  Miss  Burney,  ma'am." 
She  leaned  her  head  forward,  and  in  a  most  soft  manner 
said,  "  Miss  Burney,  how  are  you  ? " 

Deeply  affected,  I  hastened  up  to  her,  but,  in  trying  to 
speak,  burst  into  an  irresistible  torrent  of  tears.  My  dear- 
est friends,  I  do  it  at  this  moment  again,  and  can  hardly 
write  for  them  ;  yet  I  wish  you  to  know  all  this  piercing 
history  right.  She  looked  like  death  —  colorless  and  wan  ; 
but  nature  is  infectious ;  the  tears  gushed  from  her  own 
eyes,  and  a  perfect  agony  of  weeping  ensued,  which,  once 
begun,  she  could  not  stop  ;  she  did  not,  indeed,  try  ;  for 
when  it  subsided,  and  she  wiped  her  eyes,  she  said,  "  I 
thank  you,  Miss  Burney  —  you  have  made  me  cry ;  it  is  a 
great  relief  to  me  —  I  had  not  been  able  to  cry  before,  all 
this  night  long !  " 

Oh  what  a  scene  followed  !  what  a  scene  was  related  ! 
The  King,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  had  insisted  upon 
seeing  if  his  Queen  was  not  removed  from  the  house  ;  and 
he  had  come  into  her  room,  witli  a  candle  in  his  hand, 
opened  the  bed-curtains,   and  satisfied   himself  she   was 


36  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

there,  and  Miss  Goldsworthy  by  her  side.  This  obser- 
vance of  his  directions  had  much  soothed  him ;  but  he 
stayed  a  full  half  hour,  and  the  depth  of  terror  during  that 
time  no  words  can  paint.  The  fear  of  such  another  en- 
trance was  now  so  strongly  upon  the  nerves  of  the  poor 
Queen  that  she  could  hardly  support  herself. 

The  King  —  the  Eoyal  sufferer  —  was  still  in  the  next 
room,  attended  by  Sir  George  Baker  and  Dr.  Heberden, 
and  his  pages,  with  Colonel  Goldsworthy  occasionally,  and 
as  he  called  for  him.  He  kept  talking  unceasingly ;  his 
voice  was  so  lost  in  hoarseness  and  weakness,  it  was  ren- 
dered almost  inarticulate  ;  but  its  tone  was  still  all  benevo- 
lence —  all  kindness  —  all  touching  graciousness. 

It  was  thought  advisable  the  Queen  should  not  rise,  lest 
the  King  should  be  offended  that  she  did  not  go  to  him  ; 
at  present  he  was  content,  because  he  conceived  her  to  be 
nursing  for  her  illness. 

But  what  a  situation  for  her  1  She  would  not  let  me 
leave  her  now ;  she  made  me  remain  in  the  room,  and 
ordered  me  to  sit  down.  I  was  too  trembling  to  refuse. 
Lady  Elizabeth  soon  joined  us.  We  all  three  stayed  with 
her ;  she  frequently  bid  me  listen,  to  hear  what  the  King 
was  saving  or  doing.  I  did,  and  carried  the  best  accounts 
I  could  manage,  without  deviating  from  truth,  except  by 
some  omissions.  Nothing  could  be  so  afilicting  as  this 
task ;  even  now  it  brings  fresh  to  my  ear  his  poor  ex- 
hausted voice.  "  I  am  nervous,"  he  cried  ;  "  I  am  not  ill ; 
but  I  am  nervous :  if  you  would  know  what  is  tlie  matter 
with  me,  I  am  nervous.  But  I  love  you  both  very  well ; 
if  you  would  tell  me  truth :  I  love  Dr.  Heberden  best,  for 
he  has  not  told  me  a  lie  :  Sir  George  has  told  me  a  lie  —  a 
white  lie,  he  says,  but  I  hate  a  white  lie !  If  you  wiU  tell 
me  a  lie,  let  it  be  a  black  lie  ! "  This  was  what  he  kept 
saying  almost  constantly,  mixed  in  with  other  matter,  but 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  37 

always  returning,  and  in  a  voice  that  truly  will  never 
cease  vibrating  in  my  recollection. 

The  Queen  permitted  me  to  make  her  breakfast  and 
attend  her,  and  was  so  affectingly  kind  and  gentle  in  her 
distress,  that  I  felt  a  tenderness  of  sorrow  for  her  that 
almost  devoted  my  whole  mind  to  her  alone  !  Miss  Golds- 
worthy  was  a  fixture  at  her  side ;  I  therefore  provided  her 
breakfast  also. 

Lady  Elizabeth  was  sent  out  on  inquiries  of  Colonel 
Goldsworthy,  and  Mr.  Batterscomb,  and  the  pages,  every 
ten  minutes  ;  while  I,  at  the  same  intervals,  was  ordered  to 
listen  to  what  passed  in  the  room,  and  give  warning  if 
anything  seemed  to  threaten  another  entrance. 

The  behavior  of  Lady  Elizabeth  was  a  pattern  of  pro- 
priety for  her  situation.  She  was  quiet,  gentle,  serene, 
full  of  respect  and  attention,  and  kind  concern.  She  got 
some  breakfast,  standing,  in  the  little  dressing-room,  while 
waiting  for  an  answer  to  one  of  her  messages;  she  wished 
me  to  do  the  same,  but  I  could  not  eat.  She  afterwards 
told  the  Queen  I  had  had  nothing,  and  I  was  then  ordered 
to  go  and  make  reparation  in  my  room. 

The  Queen  bid  me  bring  the  Prayer- Book  and  read  the 
morning  service  to  her.  I  could  hardly  do  it,  the  poor 
voice  from  the  next  room  was  so  perpetually  in  my  ears. 

You  may  suppose  a  thousand  things  to  be  said  and  to 
pass  that  I  never  would  write ;  all  I  have  put  down  was 
known  to  other  witnesses. 

When  I  came  to  my  room,  about  twelve  o'clock,  for 
some  breakfast,  I  found  a  letter  from  Lady  Carmarthen. ^ 
It  was  an  answer  to  my  congratulation  upon  her  marriage, 
and    written    with   honest  happiness   and    delight.     She 

^  Catharine,  daughter  of  Thomas  Anguish,  Esq.  In  October,  1788, 
she  became  the  second  wife  of  Francis  Godolphin,  Marquis  of  Carmar- 
then. 


38  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

frankly  calls  herself  the  luckiest  of  all  God's  creatures ; 
and  this,  if  not  elegant,  is  sincere,  and  I  hope  will  be  per- 
manently her  opinion. 

While  swallowing  my  breakfast,  standing  and  in  haste, 
and  the  door  ajar,  I  heard  Mr.  Fairly 's  voice,  saying,  "  Is 
Miss  Burney  there  ?  is  she  alone  ? "  and  then  he  sent  in 
Columb,  to  inquire  if  he  might  come  and  ask  me  how  I 
did.  I  received  him  with  as  much  gladness  as  I  could  then 
feel,  but  it  was  a  melancholy  reception.  I  consulted  with 
him  upon  many  points  in  which  I  wanted  counsel :  he  is 
quick  and  deep  at  once  in  expedients  where  anything  is  to 
be  done,  and  simple  and  clear  in  explaining  himself  where 
he  thinks  it  is  best  to  do  nothing.  Miss  Goldsworthy  her- 
self had  once  stolen  out  to  consult  with  him.  He  became, 
indeed,  for  all  who  belonged  to  the  Queen,  from  this  mo- 
ment, the  oracle. 

Dr.  Warren  had  been  sent  for  express,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  at  the  desire  of  Sir  George  Baker,  because  he 
had  been  taken  ill  himself,  and  felt  unequal  to  the  whole 
toil. 

•  I  returned  speedily  to  the  room  of  woe.  The  arrival  of 
the  physicians  was  there  grievously  awaited,  for  Dr.  Heber- 
den  and  Sir  George  would  now  decide  upon  nothing  till 
Dr.  Warren  ^  came.  The  poor  Queen  wanted  something 
very  positive  to  pass,  relative  to  her  keeping  away,  which 
seemed  thought  essential  at  this  time,  though  the  courage 
to  assert  it  was  wanting  in  everybody. 

The  Princesses  sent  to  ask  leave  to  come  to  their  mother. 
She  burst  into  tears,  and  declared  she  could  neither  see 
them,  nor  pray,  while  in  this  dreadful  situation,  expecting 

1  Dr.  Richard  WaiTen  was  bom  about  1732,  and  attained  great  emi- 
nence in  his  profession.  He  was  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  and  Antiquarian 
Societies,  and  was  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  George  III.  and  the  Prince  of 
"Wales.     He  died  in  1797. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  39 

every  moment  to  be  broken  in  upon,  and  quite  uncertain 
in  what  manner,  yet  determined  not  to  desert  her  apart- 
ment, except  by  express  direction  from  the  physicians. 
Who  could  tell  to  what  height  the  delirium  miglit  rise  ? 
There  was  no  constraint,  no  power:  all  feared  the  worst, 
yet  none  dared  take  any  measures  for  security. 

The  Princes  also  sent  word  they  were  at  her  Majesty's 
command,  but  she  shrunk  still  more  from  this  interview  : 
it  filled  her  with  a  thousand  dreadful  sensations,  too  obvious 
to  be  wholly  hid. 

At  length  news  was  brought  that  Dr.  Warren  was  arrived. 
I  never  felt  so  rejoiced ;  I  could  have  run  out  to  welcome 
him  with  rapture. 

With  what  cruel  impatience  did  we  then  wait  to  hear 
his  sentence  !  An  impatience  how  fruitless  !  It  ended  in 
information  tliat  he  had  not  seen  the  King,  who  refused 
him  admittance.  This  was  terrible.  But  the  King  was 
never  so  despotic ;  no  one  dared  oppose  him.  He  would 
not  listen  to  a  word,  though,  when  unopposed,  he  was  still 
all  gentleness  and  benignity  to  every  one  around  him.  Dr. 
Warren  was  then  planted  where  he  could  hear  his  voice 
and  all  that  passed,  and  receive  intelligence  concerning  his 
pulse,  &c.,  from  Sir  George  Baker. 

We  now  expected  every  moment  Dr.  Warren  would  bring 
her  Majesty  his  opinion ;  but  he  neither  came  nor  sent. 
She  waited  in  dread  incessant.  She  sent  for  Sir  Georse 
—  he  would  not  speak  alone:  she  sent  for  Mr.  Hawkins, 
the  household  surgeon ;  but  all  referred  to  Dr.  Warren. 

Lady  Elizabeth  and  Miss  Goldsworthy  earnestly  pressed 
her  to  remove  to  a  more  distant  apartment,  where  she 
might  not  hear  the  unceasing  voice  of  the  unhappy  King ; 
but  she  would  only  rise  and  go  to  the  little  dressing-room, 
there  to  wait  in  her  night-clothes  Dr.  Warren's  determina- 
tion what  step  she  should  take. 


40  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

At  length  Lady  Elizabeth  learnt  among  the  pages  that 
Dr.  Warren  had  quitted  his  post  of  watching.  The  poor 
Queen  now,  in  a  torrent  of  tears,  prepared  herself  for  seeing 
him. 

He  came  not.  All  astonished  and  impatient,  Lady  Eliza- 
beth was  sent  out  on  inquiries.  She  returned  and  said  Dr. 
Warren  was  gone. 

"  Run  !  stop  him  ! "  was  the  Queen's  next  order.  "  Let 
him  but  let  me  know  what  I  am  to  do. "  Poor,  poor 
Queen  !  how  I  wept  to  hear  those  words  ! 

Abashed  and  distressed,  poor  Lady  Elizabeth  returned. 
She  had  seen  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  and  heard  Dr.  Warren, 
with  the  other  two  physicians,  had  left  the  house  too  far 
to  be  recalled ;  they  were  gone  over  to  the  Castle,  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  I  think  a  deeper  blow  I  had  never 
witnessed.  Already  to  become  but  second,  even  for  the 
King  !  The  tears  were  now  wiped  :  indignation  arose,  with 
pain,  the  severest  pain,  of  every  species. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Colonel  Goldsworthy  sent 
in  to  beg  an  audience.  It  was  granted,  a  long  cloak  only 
being  thrown  over  the  Queen. 

He  now  brought  the  opinion  of  all  the  physicians  in 
consultation,  "  That  her  Majesty  would  remove  to  a  more 
distant  apartment,  since  the  King  would  undoubtedly  be 
worse  from  the  agitation  of  seeing  her,  and  there  could  be 
no  possibility  to  prevent  it  while  she  remained  so  near. " 
She  instantly  agreed,  but  with  what  bitter  anguish  !  Lady 
Elizabeth,  Miss  Goldsworthy,  and  myself  attended  her ; 
she  went  to  an  apartment  in  the  same  row,  but  to  which 
there  was  no  entrance  except  by  its  own  door.  It  consisted 
of  only  two  rooms,  a  bed-chamber  and  a  dressing-room. 
They  are  appropriated  to  the  lady-in-waiting  when  she 
is  here. 

At  the   entrance  into   this   new   habitation   the   poor 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  41 

wretched  Queen  once  more  gave  way  to  a  perfect  agony  of 
grief  and  affliction  ;  while  the  words  "  What  will  become  of 
me !  What  will  become  of  me ! "  uttered  with  the  most 
piercing  lamentation,  struck  deep  and  hard  into  all  our 
hearts.  Never  can  I  forget  their  desponding  sound ;  they 
implied  such  complicated  apprehensions. 

Instantly  now  the  Princesses  were  sent  for.  The  three 
elder  hastened  down.  Oh,  what  a  meeting !  They  all, 
from  a  habit  that  is  become  a  second  nature,  struggled  to 
repress  all  outward  grief,  though  the  Queen  herself,  wholly 
overcome,  wept  even  aloud.  They  all  went  into  the  bed- 
room, and  the  Queen  made  a  slight  dressing,  but  only  wore 
a  close  gauze  cap,  and  her  long  dressing-gown,  which  is  a 
dimity  chemise. 

I  was  then  sent  back  to  the  little  dressing-room,  for 
something  that  was  .left ;  as  I  opened  the  door,  I  almost 
ran  against  a  gentleman  close  to  it  in  the  passage. 

"  Is  the  Queen  here  ? "  he  cried,  and  then  I  saw  the 
Prince  of  Wales. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  shuddering  at  this  new  scene  for 
her ;  "  should  I  tell  her  Majesty  your  Royal  Highness  is 
here  ? "  This  I  said  lest  he  should  surprise  her.  But  he 
did  not  intend  that :  he  was  profoundly  respectful,  and 
consented  to  wait  at  the  door  while  I  went  in,  but  called 
me  back,  as  I  turned  away,  to  add,  "  You  will  be  so  good 
to  say  I  am  come  by  her  orders."  She  wept  a  deluge  of 
tears  when  I  delivered  my  commission,  but  instantly  ad- 
mitted him.  I  then  retreated.  The  other  two  ladies  went 
to  Lady  Elizabeth's  room,  which  is  next  the  Queen's  new 
apartments. 

In  the  passage  I  was  again  stopped ;  it  was  by  Mr. 
Fairly.  I  would  have  hurried  on,  scarce  able  to  speak,  but 
he  desired  to  know  how  the  Queen  did.  "  Very  bad  "  was 
all  I  could  say,  and  on  I  hastened  to  my  own  room,  which, 


42  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

the  next  minute,  I  would  as  eagerly  have  hastened  to  quit, 
from  its  distance  from  all  that  was  going  forward  ;  but 
now  once  the  Prince  had  entered  the  Queen's  rooms,  I 
could  go  thither  no  more  unsummoned. 

Miserable,  lonely,  and  filled  with  dreadful  conjectures,  I 
remained  here  till  a  very  late  dinner  brought  Miss  Planta 
to  the  dining-parlor,  where  I  joined  her.  After  a  short 
and  dismal  meal  we  immediately  parted :  she  to  wait  in 
the  apartments  of  the  Princesses  above  stairs,  in  case  of 
being  wanted ;  I  to  my  own  solitary  parlor. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  and  Duke  of  York  stayed  here  all 
the  day,  and  were  so  often  in  and  out  of  the  Queen's  rooms 
that  no  one  could  enter  them  but  by  order.  The  same 
etiquette  is  observed  when  the  Princes  are  with  the  Queen 
as  when  the  King  is  there  —  no  interruption  whatever  is 
made.  I  now,  therefore,  lost  my  only  consolation  at 
this  calamitous  time,  that  of  attending  my  poor  Eoyal 
mistress. 

Alone  wholly,  without  seeing  a  human  being,  or  gather- 
ing any,  the  smallest  intelligence  of  what  was  going  for- 
wards, I  remained  till  tea-time.  Impatient  then  for 
information,  I  planted  myself  in  the  eating-parlor ;  but  no 
one  came.  Every  minute  seemed  an  hour.  I  grew  as 
anxious  for  the  tea-society  as  heretofore  I  had  been  anxious 
to  escape  it !  but  so  late  it  grew,  and  so  hopeless,  that  Col- 
umb  came  to  propose  bringing  the  water. 

No ;  for  I  could  swallow  nothing  voluntarily. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  came  again,  and  with  the  compli- 
ments of  Mr.  Fairly,  who  desired  him  to  tell  me  he  would 
wait  upon  me  to  tea  whenever  I  pleased.  A  little  sur- 
prised at  this  single  message,  but  most  truly  rejoiced,  I 
returned  my  compliments,  with  an  assurance  that  all  time 
was  the  same  to  me.  He  came  directly,  and  indeed  his 
very  sight,  at  this  season  of  still  horror  and  silent  suspense, 
was  a  repose  to  my  poor  aching  eyes. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  43 

"  You  will  see,"  be  said,  "  nobody  else.  Tbe  pbysicians 
being  now  here,  Colonel  Goldsworthy  thought  it  right  to 
order  tea  for  the  whole  party  in  the  music-room,  which  we 
have  now  agreed  to  make  the  general  waiting-room  for 
.  us  all.  It  is  near  the  King,  and  we  ought  always  to  be  at 
hand." 

Our  tea  was  very  sad.  He  gave  me  no  hope  of  a  short 
seizure  ;  he  saw  it,  in  perspective,  as  long  as  it  was  dread- 
ful:  perhaps  even  worse  than  long,  he  thought  it  —  but 
that  he  said  not.  He  related  to  me  the  whole  of  the  day's 
transactions,  but  my  most  dear  and  most  honorable  friends 
will  be  the  first  to  forgive  me  when  I  promise  that  I  shall 
commit  nothing  to  paper  on  tliis  terrible  event  that  is  told 
me  in  confidence. 

He  did  not  stay  long :  he  did  not  think  it  right  to  leave 
his  waiting  friends  for  any  time,  nor  could  I  wish  it,  val- 
ued as  I  know  he  is  by  them  all,  and  much  as  they  need 
his  able  counsel. 

He  left  me  plunged  in  a  deep  gloom,  yet  he  was  not 
gloomy  himself;  he  sees  evils  as  things  of  course,  and 
bears  them,  therefore,  as  things  expected.  But  he  was 
tenderly  touched  for  the  poor  Queen  and  the  Princesses. 

Not  till  one  in  the  morning  did  I  see  another  face,  and 
then  I  attended  my  poor  unhappy  Queen.  She  was  now 
fixed  in  her  new  apartments,  bedroom  and  dressing-room, 
and  stirred  not  a  step  but  from  one  to  the  other.  For- 
tunately all  are  upon  the  ground-floor,  both  for  King  and 
Queen  ;  so  are  the  two  Lady  Waldegraves'  and  mine ;  the 
Princesses  and  Miss  Planta,  as  usual,  are  upstairs,  and  the 
gentlemen  lodge  above  them.  It  was  settled  that  Mrs. 
Sandys  and  Miss  Macenton  should  alternately  sit  up  in 
the  dressing-room.  The  Queen  would  not  permit  me  to 
take  that  office,  though  most  gladly  I  would  have  taken 
any  that  would  have  kept  me  about  her.     But  she  does 


44  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

not  think  my  strength  sufficient.  She  allowed  me,  how- 
ever, to  stay  with  her  till  she  was  in  bed,  which  I  had 
never  done  till  now ;  I  never,  indeed,  had  even  seen  her  in 
her  bedroom  till  the  day  before.  She  has  always  had  the 
kindness  and  delicacy  to  dismiss  me  from  her  dressing- 
room  as  soon  as  I  have  assisted  her  with  her  night-clothes  ; 
the  wardrobe-woman  then  was  summoned,  and  I  regularly 
made  my  curtsey.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  me,  however, 
now  to  leave  her  the  last,  and  to  come  to  her  the  first. 

Her  present  dressing-room  is  also  her  dining-room,  her 
drawing-room,  her  sitting-room  ;  she  has  nothing  else  but 
her  bedroom ! 

I  left  her  with  my  fervent  prayers  for  better  times,  and 
saw  her  nearer  to  composure  than  I  had  believed  possible 
in  such  a  calamity.  She  called  to  her  aid  her  religion, 
and  without  it  what,  indeed,  must  have  become  of  her  ? 
It  was  near  two  in  the  morning  when  I  quitted  her.  In 
passing  through  the  dressing-room  to  come  away,  I  found 
Miss  Goldsworthy  in  some  distress  how  to  execute  a  com- 
mission of  the  Queen's :  it  was  to  her  brother,  who  was  to 
sit  up  in  a  room  adjoining  to  the  King's ;  and  she  was  un- 
dressed, and  knew  not  how  to  go  to  him,  as  the  Princes 
were  to  and  fro  everywhere.  I  offered  to  call  him  to  her ; 
she  thankfully  accepted  the  proposal.  I  cared  not,  just 
then,  whom  I  encountered,  so  I  could  make  myself  of  any 
use. 

AVhen  I  gently  opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  to 
which  I  was  directed,  I  found  it  was  quite  filled  with  gen- 
tlemen and  attendants,  arranged  round  it  on  chairs  and 
sofas,  in  dead  silence. 

It  was  a  dreadful  start  with  which  I  retreated ;  for  any- 
thing more  alarming  and  shocking  could  not  be  conceived : 
the  poor  King  within  another  door,  unconscious  any  one 
was  near  him,  and  thus  watched,  by  dread  necessity,  at 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  45 

such  an  hour  of  the  night !  I  pronounced  the  words, 
"  Colonel  Goldsworthy,"  however,  before  I  drew  back, 
though  I  could  not  distinguish  one  gentleman  from  an- 
other, except  the  two  Princes,  by  their  stars.  I  waited  in 
the  next  room ;  but  instead  of  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  my 
call  was  answered  by  Mr.  Fairly.  I  acquainted  him  with 
my  errand.  He  told  me  he  had  himself  insisted  that 
Colonel  Goldsworthy  should  go  to  bed,  as  he  had  sat  up  all 
the  preceding  night,  and  he  had  undertaken  to  supply  his 
place. 

I  went  back  to  Miss  Goldsworthy  with  this  account. 
She  begged  me  to  entreat  Mr.  Fairly  would  come  to  her,  as 
she  must  now  make  the  commission  devolve  on  him,  and 
could  less  than  ever  appear  herself,  as  they  were  all  as- 
sembled in  such  a  party.  Mr.  Fairly  most  considerately 
had  remained  in  this  quiet  room,  to  see  if  anything  more 
might  be  wanted,  which  spared  me  the  distress  of  again  in- 
truding into  the  public  room. 

I  begged  him  to  follow,  and  we  were  proceeding  to  the 
dressing-room,  when  I  was  stopped  by  a  gentleman,  who 
said,  "  Does  the  Queen  want  anybody  ? "  It  was  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  "Not  the  Queen,  sir,"  I  answered,  "but  Miss 
Goldsworthy  has  desired  to  see  Mr.  Fairly." 

He  let  me  pass,  but  stopped  Mr.  Fairly;  and,  as  he 
seemed  inclined  to  detain  him  some  time,  I  only  told  Miss 
Goldsworthy  what  had  retarded  him,  and  made  off  to  my 
own  room,  and  soon  after  two  o'clock,  I  believe,  I  was 
in  bed. 

Fkiday,  November  7th.  —  I  was  now  arrived  at  a  sort 
of  settled  regularity  of  life  more  melancholy  than  can  pos- 
sibly be  described.  I  rose  at  six,  dressed,  and  hastened  to 
the  Queen's  apartments,  uncalled,  and  there  waited  in 
silence  and  in  the  dark  till  I  heard  her  move  or  speak 
with  Miss  Goldsworthy,  and  then  presented  myself  to  the 


46  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

bedside  of  the  unhappy  Queen.  She  sent  Miss  Golds- 
worthy  early  every  morning,  to  make  inquiry  what  sort  of 
night  his  Majesty  had  passed ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  she  commonly  also  sent  for  news  by  the  wardrobe- 
woman,  or  Miss  Macenton,  whichever  sat  up. 

She  dismissed  Miss  Goldsworthy,  on  my  arrival,  to  dress 
herself  Lady  Elizabeth  Waldegrave  accommodated  her 
with  her  own  room  for  that  purpose.  I  had  then  a  long 
conference  with  this  most  patient  sufferer ;  and  equal  for- 
bearance and  quietness  during  a  period  of  suspensive  un- 
happiness  never  have  I  seen,  never  could  I  have  imagined. 

At  noon  now  I  never  saw  her,  which  I  greatly  regretted  ; 
but  she  kept  on  her  dressing-gown  all  day,  and  the  Princes 
were  continually  about  the  passages,  so  that  no  one  un- 
summoned  dared  approach  the  Queen's  apartments.  It 
was  only  therefore  at  night  and  morning  I  could  see  her ; 
but  my  heart  was  with  her  the  livelong  day.  And  how 
long,  good  Heaven  !  how  long  that  day  became  !  Endless 
I  used  to  think  it,  for  nothing  could  I  do  —  to  wait  and  to 
watch  —  starting  at  every  sound,  yet  revived  by  every 
noise. 

While  I  was  yet  with  my  poor  Eoyal  sufferer  this  morn- 
ing the  Prince  of  Wales  came  hastily  into  the  room.  He 
apologized  for  his  intrusion,  and  then  gave  a  very  energetic 
history  of  the  preceding  night.  It  had  been  indeed  most 
affectingly  dreadful !  The  King  had  risen  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  would  take  no  denial  to  walking  into  the 
next  room.  There  he  saw  the  large  congress  I  have  men- 
tioned :  amazed  and  in  consternation,  he  demanded  what 
they  did  there  ?  Much  followed  that  I  have  heard  since, 
particularly  the  warmest  eloge  on  his  dear  son  Frederick, 
his  favorite,  his  friend.  "  Yes,"  he  cried,  "  Frederick  is  my 
friend ! "  —  and  this  son  was  then  present  amongst  the 
rest,  but  not  seen ! 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY,  47 

Sir  George  Baker  was  there,  and  was  privately  exhorted 
by  the  gentlemen  to  lead  the  King  back  to  his  room ;  but 
he  had  not  courage  :  he  attempted  only  to  speak,  and 
the  King  penned  him  in  a  corner,  told  him  he  was  a  mere 
old  woman  —  that  he  wondered  he  had  ever  followed  his 
advice,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  his  complaint,  which  was 
only  nervous  ! 

The  Prince  of  Wales,  by  signs  and  whispers,  would  have 
urged  others  to  have  drawn  him  away,  but  no  one  dared 
approach  him,  and  he  remained  there  a  considerable  time, 
"  Nor  do  I  know  when  he  would  have  been  got  back,"  con- 
tinued the  Prince,  "  if  at  last  Mr.  Fairly  had  not  undertaken 
him.  I  am  extremely  obliged  to  Mr.  Fairly  indeed.  He 
came  boldly  up  to  him,  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  and 
begged  him  to  go  to  bed,  and  then  drew  him  along,  and 
said  he  must  go.  Then  he  said  he  would  not,  and  cried 
'  Who  are  you  ? '  'I  am  Mr.  Fairly,  sir,'  he  ans\vered,  '  and 
your  Majesty  has  been  very  good  to  me  often,  and  now  I 
am  going  to  be  very  good  to  you,  for  you  must  come  to 
bed,  sir :  it  is  necessary  to  your  life.'  And  then  he  was  so 
surprised  that  he  let  himself  be  drawn  along  just  like  a 
child ;  and  so  they  got  him  to  bed.  I  believe  else  he  would 
have  stayed  all  night !  " 

Mr.  Fairly  has  had  some  melancholy  experience  in  a  case 
of  this  sort,  with  a  very  near  connection  of  his  own.  How 
fortunate  he  was  present ! 

At  noon  I  had  the  most  sad  pleasure  of  receiving  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Smelt.  They  had  heard  in  York  of  the  illness  of 
the  King,  and  had  travelled  post  to  Windsor.  Poor  worthy, 
excellent  couple  !  —  ill  and  infirm,  what  did  they  not  suffer 
from  an  attack  like  this —  so  wonderfully  unexpected  upon 
a  patron  so  adored ! 

They  wished  the  Queen  to  be  acquainted  with  their 
arrival,  yet  would  not  let  me  risk  meeting  the  Princes  in 


48   ■  DIARY  AND  LETTERS  [1788, 

carrying  the  news.  Mr.  Smelt  I  saw  languished  to  see  his 
King :  he  was  persuaded  he  might  now  repay  a  part  of 
former  benefits,  and  he  wished  to  be  made  his  page  during 
his  illness,  that  he  might  watch  and  attend  him  hourly. 

The  good  Mrs.  Smelt  was  even  anxious  to  part  with  him 
for  this  purpose ;  and  I  had  not  a  doubt,  myself,  he  would 
perform  it  better  than  anybody,  his  personal  tenderness  for 
the  King  being  aided  by  so  intimate  a  knowledge  of  his 
character  and  sentiments. 

They  determined  to  wait  till  the  last,  in  hopes  some 
accident  would  occasion  my  being  summoned. 

Mr.  Smelt,  seeing  Dr.  Warren  pass  my  window,  hastened 
out  to  confer  with  him ;  and,  just  after,  a  rap  at  my  door 
produced  Mr.  Fairly. 

T  never  gave  him  a  better  welcome.  I  had  heard,  I  told 
him,  what  he  had  done,  and  if  he  could  instigate  others  to 
such  methods  I  should  call  him  our  nation's  guardian.  He 
had  a  long  story,  he  said,  for  me ;  but  from  slightness  of 
acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Smelt,  he  forbore  at  present  to 
enter  into  particulars,  and  only  —  Cheltenham  fashion  — 
asked  me  to  lend  him  pen  and  ink  to  write  a  note.  We 
left  him  to  that,  and  pursued  our  discourse. 

I  had  a  message  in  the  morning  by  Mr.  Gorton,  the 
clerk  of  the  kitchen,  to  tell  me  the  Prince  of  Wales  wished 
our  dining-parlor  to  be  appropriated  to  the  physicians,  both 
for  their  dinner  and  their  consultations.  I  was  therefore 
oblit^ed  to  order  dinner  for  Miss  Planta  and  myself  in  my 
own  sitting-parlor,  which  was  now  immaterial,  as  the 
Equerries  did  not  come  to  tea,  but  continued  altogether  in 
the  music-room. 

Mr.  Fairly  had,  I  believe,  forgot  this  new  regulation,  for 
the  moment  he  had  written  his  note  he  hastened  away, 
saying,  "  In  the  evening  I  shall  come  to  tea,  of  course." 
I  stopped  him,  then,  to  explain  the  loss  of  the  tea-room. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  49 

but  added,  if  he  found  any  time,  I  should  be  most  happy 
to  receive  liim  in  my  own. 

As  I  had  no  summons,  I  contrived  to  speak  to  Mr. 
Albert,  the  Queen's  page,  and  begged  him  to  acquaint  her 
Majesty  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt  were  here.  He  did ;  but  no 
message  followed,  and,  therefore,  at  three  o'clock,  with 
bleeding  hearts,  they  left  this  miserable  house. 

In  the  evening,  of  course,  came  Mr.  Fairly,  but  it  was 
only  to  let  me  know  it  would  be  of  course  no  longer.  He 
then  rang  the  bell  for  my  tea-urn,  finding  I  had  waited, 
though  he  declined  drinking  tea  with  me ;  but  he  sat  down, 
and  stayed  half-an-hour,  telling  me  the  long  story  he  had 
promised,  which  was  a  full  detail  of  the  terrible  preceding 
night.  The  transactions  of  the  day  also  he  related  to  me, 
and  the  designs  for  the, future.  How  alarming  were  they 
all !  yet  many  particulars,  he  said,  he  omitted,  merely  be- 
cause they  were  yet  more  affecting,  and  could  be  dwelt 
upon  to  no  purpose. 

Satueday,  Nov-Ember  8th.  —  This  was,  if  possible,  the 
saddest  day  yet  passed :  it  was  the  birthday  of  Prin- 
cess Augusta,  and  Mrs.  Siddons  had  been  invited  to 
read  a  play,  and  a  large  party  of  company  to  form  the 
audience.  Wliat  a  contrast  from  such  an  intention  was 
the  event ! 

When  I  went,  before  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  my 
most  unhappy  Eoyal  mistress,  the  Princes  were  both,  in 
the  room.  I  retreated  to  the  next  apartment  till  they  had 
finished  their  conference.  The  Prince  of  Wales  upon  these 
occasions  has  always  been  extremely  well-bred  and  con- 
descending in  his  manner,  which,  in  a  situation  such  as 
mine,  is  no  immaterial  circumstance. 

The  poor  Queen  then  spoke  to  me  of  the  birthday  present 
she  had  designed  for  her  most  amiable  daughter.  She 
hesitated  a  little  whether  or  not  to  produce  it,  but  at  length 

VOL.   II.  4 


60  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

meekly  said,  "  Yes,  go  to  Miss  Planta  and  bring  it.  Do  you 
think  there  can  be  any  harm  in  giving  it  now  ?  " 

"0,  no!"  I  said,  happy  to  encourage  whatever  was  a  little 
less  gloomy,  and  upstairs  I  flew.  I  was  met  by  all  the 
poor  Princesses  and  the  Duke  of  York,  who  inquired  if  he 
might  go  again  to  the  Queen.  I  begged  leave'  first  to  exe- 
cute my  commission.  I  did ;  but  so  engrossed  was  my 
mind  with  the  whole  of  this  living  tragedy,  that  I  so  little 
noticed  what  it  was  I  carried  as  to  be  now  unable  to 
recollect  it.  I  gave  it,  however,  to  the  Queen,  who  then 
sent  for  the  Princesses,  and  carried  her  gift  to  her  daugh- 
ter, weeping,  who  received  it  with  a  silent  curtsey,  kissing 
and  wetting  with  her  gentle  tears  the  hand  of  her  afflicted 
mother. 

During  my  mournful  breakfast,  poor  Mr.  Smelt  arrived 
from  Kew,  where  he  had  now  settled  himself.  .  Mr.  de  Luc 
also  joined  us,  and  they  could  neither  prevail  upon  them- 
selves to  go  away  all  the  morning. 

Mr.  Smelt  had  some  thoughts  of  taking  up  his  abode  in 
Windsor  till  the  state  of  things  should  be  more  decisive. 
The  accounts  of  the  preceding  night  had  been  most  cruel, 
and  to  quit  the  spot  was  scarce  supportable  to  him.  Yet 
he  feared  the  Princes  might  disapprove  his  stay,  and  he 
well  knew  his  influence  and  welcome  at  Court  was  all  con- 
fined to  the  sick-room :  thence  there  could  now  issue  no 
mandate. 

Yet  I  encouraged  him  to  stay,  so  did  Mr.  de  Luc ;  and 
while  he. was  still  wavering,  he  saw  Dr.  Warren  in  the 
court-yard,  and  again  hastened  to  speak  with  him.  Before 
he  returned  the  Prince  of  Wales  went  out  and  met  him ; 
.^.nd  you  may  imagine  how  much  I  was  pleased  to  observe 
from  the  window  that  he  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  walked 
up  and  down  with  him. 

"VV^hen  he  came  to  us,  he  said  the  Prince  had  told  him  he 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  51 

had  better  stay,  that  he  might  see  the  Queen,  He  deter- 
mined, therefore,  to  send  off  an  express  to  Mrs.  Smelt,  and 
go  and  secure  a.n  apartment  at  the  inn. 

This  was  very  soothing  to  me,  who  so  much  needed  just 
such  consolation  as  he  could  bestow ;  and  I  begged  he 
would  come  back  to  dinner,  and  spend  the  whole  day  in 
ray  room  during  his  stay. 

What,  however,  was  my  concern  and  amaze,  when,  soon 
after,  hastily  returning,  he  desired  to  speak  to  me  alone, 
and,  as  Mr.  de  Luc  moved  off,  told  me  he  was  going  back 
immediately  to  Kew !  He  spoke  with  a  tremor  that 
alarmed  me.  I  entreated  to  know  why  such  a  change  ? 
He  then  informed  me  that  the  porter,  Mr.  Humphreys, 
had  refused  him  re-entrance,  and  sent  him  his  great-coat ! 
He  had  resented  this  impertinence,  and  was  told  it  was  by 
the  express  order  of  the  Prince  !  In  utter  astonishment 
he  then  only  desired  admittance  for  one  moment  to  my 
room,  and  having  acquainted  me  with  this  circumstance, 
he  hurried  off,  in  a  state  of  distress  and  indignation  that 
left  me  penetrated  with  both. 

He  made  Mr.  de  Luc  promise  to  write  to  him,  as  he 
knew  I  had  received  injunctions  to  send  no  accounts  from 
the  house ;  but  he  said  he  would  come  no  more.  And, 
after  such  an  unmerited — a  wanton  affront,  who  could  ask 
him  ?     I  can  make  no  comments." 

From  this  time,  as  the  poor  King  grew  worse,  general 
hope  seemed  universally  to  abate  ;  and  the  Prince  of  Wales 
now  took  the  government  of  the  house  into  his  own  hands. 
Nothing  was  done  but  by  his  orders,  and  he  was  applied 
to  in  every  difficulty.  The  Queen  interfered  not  in  any- 
thing ;  she  lived  entirely  in  her  two  new  rooms,  and  spent 
the  whole  day  in  patient  sorrow  and  retirement  with  her 
daughters. 

The  next  news  that  reached  me, -through  Mr.  de  Luc,  was, 


52  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

that  the  Prince  had  sent  his  commands  to  the  porter,  to 
admit  only  four  persons  into  the  house  on  any  pretence 
whatever :  these  were  Mr.  Majendie,  Mr.  Turbulent,  Gene- 
ral Harcourt,  and  Mr.  de  Luc  himself;  and  these  were 
ordered  to  repair  immediately  to  tlie  Equerry-room  below 
stairs,  while  no  one  whatsoever  was  to  be  allowed  to  go  to 
any  other  apartment. 

From  this  time  commenced  a  total  banishment  from  all 
intercourse  out  of  the  house,  and  an  unremitting  confine- 
ment within  its  walls. 

I  had  now,  all  tea-meetings  being  over,  no  means  of 
gaining  any  particulars  of  what  was  passing,  which  added 
so  much  to  the  horror  of  the  situation,  that  by  the  evening 
I  was-  almost  petrified.  Imagine,  then,  alike  my  surprise 
and  satisfaction  at  a  visit  from  Mr.  Fairly.  He  had  never 
come  to  me  so  unexpectedly.  I  eagerly  begged  an  account 
of  what  was  going  on,  and,  with  his  usual  readiness  and 
accuracy,  he  gave  it  me  in  full  detail.  And  nothing  could 
be  more  tragic  than  all  the  particulars ;  every  species  of 
evil  seemed  now  hanging  over  this  unhappy  family. 

He  had  had  his  son  with  him  in  his  room  upstairs: 
"  And  I  had  a  good  mind,"  he  said,  "  to  have  brought  him 
to  visit  you."  I  assured  him  he  would  have  been  a  very 
welcome  guest ;  and  when  he  added  that  he  could  no 
longer  have  him  at  the  Equerry  table  to  dinner,  as  the 
Prince  of  Wales  now  presided  there,  I  invited  him  for  the 
next  day  to  mine.  He  not  only  instantly  accepted  the  pro- 
posal, but  cried,  with  great  vivacity,  "  I  wish — you  would 
invite  me  too."  I  thought  he  was  laughing,  but  said, 
"  Certainly,  if  such  a  thing  might  be  allowed  ;  "  and  then, 
to  my  almost  speechless  surprise,  he  declared,  if  I  would 
give  him  permission,  he  would  dine  with  me  next  day. 

He  then  proceeded  to  say  that  the  hurry,  and  fatigue, 
and  violent  animal  spirits  of  the  other  table  quite  over- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLaY.  53 

powered  him,  and  a  respite  of  such  a  quiet  sort  would  be 
of  essential  service  to  him.  Yet  he  paused  a  little  after- 
wards, upon  the  propriety  of  leaving  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
table,  and  said  "He  w'ould  first  consult  with  General  Bude, 
and  hear  his  opinion." 

Sunday,  November  9th.  —  Xo  one  went  to  church ;  not 
a  creature  now  quits  the  house:  but  I  believe  devotion 
never  less  required  the  aid  and  influence  of  public  wor- 
ship. For  me,  I  know,  I  spent  almost  my  whole  time 
between  prayer  and  watching.  Even  my  melancholy, 
resource,  my  tragedy,  was  now  thrown  aside;  misery  so 
actual,  living,  and  present,  was  knit  too  closely  around  me 
to  allow  my  depressed  imagination  to  fancy  any  woe  be- 
yond what  my  heart  felt. 

In  coming  early  from  the  Queen's  apartment  this  morn- 
ing I  was  addressed  by  a  gentleman  who  inquired  how  I 
did,  by  my  name  ;  but  my  bewilderment  made  him  obliged 
to  tell  his  own  before  I  could  recollect  him.  It  was  Dr. 
Warren.  I  eagerly  expressed  my  hopes  and  satisfaction  in 
his  attendance  upon  the  poor  King,  but  he  would  not  enter 
upon  that  subject.  I  suppose  he  feared,  from  my  zeal, 
some  indiscreet  questions  concerning  his  opinion  of  the 
case ;  for  he  passed  by  all  I  could  start,  to  answer  only  with 
speeches  relative  to  myself — of  his  disappointment  in 
never  meeting  me,  though  residing  under  the  same  roof ; 
his  surprise  in  not  dining  with  me  when  told  he  was  to 
dine  in  my  room,  and  the  strangeness  of  never  seeing  me 
when  so  frequently  he  heard  my  name. 

I  could  not  bring  myself  to  ask  him  to  my  apartment, 
when  I  saw,  by  his  whole  manner,  he  held  it  imprudent  to 
speak  with  me  about  the  only  subject  on  which  I  wished 
to  talk — the  King;  and  just  then  seeing  the  Duke  of 
York  advancing,  I  hastily  retreated. 

While  I  was  dressing,  Mr.  Fairly  rapped  at  my  door.     I 


64  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

sent  out  Goter,  who  brought  me  his  compliments,  and,  if  it 
would  not  be  inconvenient  to  me,  he  and  his  son  would 
have  the  pleasure  of  dining  with  me.  I  answered,  I  should 
be  very  glad  of  their  company,  as  wolild  Miss  Planta.    • 

Our  dinner  was  as  pleasant  as  a  dinner  at  such  a  season 
could  be.  Mr.  Fairly  holds  cheerfulness  as  a  duty  in  the 
midst  of  every  affliction  that  can  admit  it ;  and,  therefore, 
whenever  his  animal  spirits  have  a  tendency  to  rise,  he 
encourages  and  sustains  them.  So  fond,  too,  is  lie  of  his 
son,  that  his  very  sight  is  a  cordial  to  him ;  and  that  mild, 
feeling,  amiable  boy  quite  idolizes  his  father,  looking  up  to 
him,  hanging  on  his  arm,  and  watching  his  eye  to  smile 
and  be  smiled  upon,  with  a  fondness  like  that  of  an  infant 
to  its  maternal  nurse.  Repeatedly  Mr.  Fairly  exclaimed, 
"  What  a  relief  is  this,  to  dine  thus  quietly  ! " 

What  a  relief  should  I,  too,  have  found  it,  but  for  a 
little  circumstance,  which  I  will  soon  relate. 

We  were  still  at  table,  with  the  dessert,  when  Columb 
entered  and  announced  the  sudden  return  from  Weymouth 
of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

Up  we  all  started ;  Miss  Planta  flew  out  to  receive  her, 
and  state  the  situation  of  the  house  ;  Mr.  Fairly,  expecting, 
I  believe,  she  was  coming  into  my  room,  hastily  made  his 
exit  without  a  word ;  his  son  eagerly  scampered  after  him, 
and  I  followed  Miss  Planta  upstairs.  My  reception,  how- 
.  ever,  was  such  as  to  make  me  deem  it  most  proper  to  again 
return  to  my  room.  What  an  addition  this  to  the  gloom 
of  all !  and  to  begin  at  once  with  harshness  and  rudeness  ! 
I  could  hardly  tell  how  to  bear  it. 

Mo:nday,  November  10th.  —  This  was  a  most  dismal 
day.  The  dear  and  most  suffering  King  was  extremely  ill, 
the  Queen  very  wretched,  poor  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  all 
spasm  and  horror.  Miss  Planta  all  restlessness,  the  house 
all  mystery,  and  my  only  informant  and  comforter  distanced. 


1788.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  55 

Not  a  word,  the  whole  day  through,  did  I  hear  of  what 
was  passing  or  intending.  Our  dinner  was  worse  than  an 
ahnost  famished  fasting ;  we  parted  after  it,  and  met  no 
more.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who  never  drinks  tea  herself, 
hearing  the  general  party  was  given  up,  and  never  surmis- 
ing that  there  had  ever  been  any  particular  one,  neither 
desired  me  to  come  to  her,  nor  proposed  returning  to  me. 
She  took  possession  of  the  poor  Queen's  former  dressing- 
room,  and  between  that  and  the  adjoining  apartments  she 
spent  all  the  day,  except  during  dinner. 

Tliis  was  my  only  little  satisfaction,  that  my  solitude  had 
not  the  evening's  interruption  I  expected.  Alas  !  I  now 
found  even  its  dreariness  acceptable,  in  preference  to  such 
a  companion  as  must  have  dispelled  it.  But  what  a  day  ! 
how  endless  every  hour ! 

Tuesday,  November  11th.  —  This  day  passed  like  the 
preceding  ;  I  only  saw  her  Majesty  in  the  morning,  and  not 
another  human  being  from  that  hour  till  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg and  Miss  Planta  came  to  dinner.  "  Nor  could  I  then 
gather  any  information  of  the  present  state  of  things,  as 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  announced  that  nothing  must  be 
talked  of. 

To  give  auy  idea  of  the  dismal  horror  of  passing  so 
many  hours  in  utter  ignorance,  where  every  interest  of  the 
mind  was  sighing  for  intelligence,  would  not  be  easy :  the 
experiment  alone  could  give  it  its  full  force  ;  and  from 
that,  Heaven  ever  guard  my  loved  readers  ! 

Wednesday,  November  12th.  —  To-day  a  little  bright- 
ened upon  us  ;  some  cliange  appeared  in  the  loved  Royal 
sufferer,  and  though  it  was  not  actually  for  the  better  in 
itself,  yet  auy  change  was  pronounced  to  be  salutary,  as, 
for  some  days  past,  there  had  been  a  monotonous  con- 
tinuation of  the  same  bad  symptoms,  that  had  doubly 
depressed  us  all.     My  spirits  rose  immediately ;  indeed,  I 


56  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

thank  God,  I  never  desponded,  though  many  times  I  stood 
nearly  alone  in  my  hopes. 

In  the  passage,  in  the  morning,  I  encountered  Colonel 
Gwynn.  I  had  but  just  time  to  inform  him  I  yet  thought 
all  would  do  well,  ere  the  Princes  appeared.  All  the 
Equerries  are  now  here  except  Major  Garth,  who  is  ill ; 
and  they  have  all  ample  employment  in  watching  and 
waiting.  From  time  to  time  they  have  all  interviews  ;  but 
it  is  only  because  the  poor  King  will  not  be  denied  seeing 
them  :  it  is  not  thought  right.  But  I  must  enter  into 
nothing  of  this  sort  —  it  is  all  too  closely  connected  with 
private  domestic  concerns  for  paper. 

After  dinner,  my  chief  guest,  la  Pr4sidente,  told  me,  "  If 
my  room  was  not  so  warm,  she  would  stay  a  littel  with  me." 
I  felt  this  would  be  rather  too  superlative  an  obligation  ; 
and  therefore  I  simply  answered  that  "  I  was  too  chilly  to 
sit  in  a  cold  room ; "  and  I  confess  I  took  no  pains  to  tem- 
per it  according  to  this  hint. 

Finding  th^ere  was  now  no  danger  of  disagreeable  inter- 
views, Mr.  Fairly  renewed  his  visits  as  usual.  He  came 
early  this  evening,  and  narrated  the  state  of  things  ;  and 
then,  with  a  laugh,  he  inquired  what  I  had  done  with  my 
head  companion,  and  how  I  got  rid  of  her  ?  I  fairly  told 
him  my  malice  about  the  temperature.  He  could  not  help 
laughing,  though  he  instantly  remonstrated  against  an 
expedient  that  might  prove  prejudicial  to  my  health. 
".  You  had  better  not,"  he  cried,  "  try  any  experiments  of 
this  sort :  if  you  hurt  your  nerves,  it  may  prove  a  perma- 
nent evil ;  this  other  can  only  be  temporary." 

He  took  up  the  "  Task  "  ^  again  ;  but  he  opened,  by  ill 
luck,  upon  nothing  striking  or  good  ;  and  soon,  with  dis- 
taste, flung  the  book  down,  and  committed  himself  wholly 
to  conversation.    . 

*  Cowper's  Poem  of  "The  Task,"  then  newly  puhlished. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  57 

He  told  me  he  wished  much  he  had  been  able  to  con- 
sult with  me  on  the  preceding  evening,  when  he  had  the 
Queen's  orders  to  write,  in  her  ]\Iajesty's  name,  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  issue .  our  public  prayers  for 
the  poor  King,  for  all  the  churches. 

I  assured  him  I  fancied  it  might  do  very  well  without 
my  aid.  There  was  to  be  a  privy  council  summoned,  in 
consequence  of  the  letter,  to  settle  the  mode  of  compliance. 

How  right  a  step  in  my  ever-right  Eoyal  mistress  is 
this  !  If  you  hear  less  of  her  now,  my  dearest  friends, 
and  of  the  internal  transactions,  it  is  only  because  I  now 
rarely  saw  her  but  alone,  and  all  that  passed,  therefore, 
was  in  promised  confidence.  And,  for  the  rest,  the  whole 
of  my  information  concerning  the  Princes,  and  the  plans 
and  the  proceedings  of  the  house,  was  told  me  in  perfect 
reliance  on  my  secrecy  and  honor.  I  know  this  is  saying 
enough  to  the  most  honorable  of  all  confidants  and  friends 
to  whom  I  am  writing.  All  that  passes  with  regard  to  my- 
self is  laid  completely  before  them. 

Thursday,  November  13th.  —  This  was  the  fairest-  day 
we  have  passed  since  the  first  seizure  of  the  most  beloved 
of  monarchs.  He  was  considerably  better.  Oh  what  a  ray 
of  joy  lightened  us,  and  how  mildly  did  my  poor  Queen 
receive  it ! 

Friday,  14th.  —  Still  all  was  greatly  amended,  and  bet- 
ter spirits  reigned  throughout  the  house. 

Mr.  Eairly  —  I  can  write  of  no  one  else,  for  no  one  else 
did  I  see  —  called  early,  to  tell  me  he  had  received  an 
answer  relative  to  the  prayer  for  his  Majesty's  recovery,  in 
conseC[uence  of  which  he  had  the  Queen's  commands  for 
going  to  town  the  next  day,  to  see  the  Archbishop.  This 
was  an  employment  so  suited  to  the  religious  cast  of  his 
character,  that  I  rejoiced  to  see  it  fall  into  his  hands.  He 
came  again  in  the  evening,  and  said  he  had  now  got  the 


58  DIAKY   AND  LETTERS  [1788. 

prayer.  He  did  not  entirely  approve  it,  nor  think  it  suf- 
ficiently warm  and  animated.  I  petitioned  to  hear  it,  and 
he  readily  complied,  and  read  it  with  great  reverence, 
but  very  unaffectedly  and  quietly.  I  was  very,  very  much 
touched  by  it ;  yet  not,  I  own,  quite  so  much  as  once  be- 
fore by  another,  which  was  read  to  me  by  Mr.  Cambridge, 
and  composed  by  his  son,  for.  the  sufferings  of  his  excel- 
lent daughter  Catherine.  It  was  at  once  so  devout,  yet 
so  concise  —  so  fervent,  yet  so  simple,  and  the  many  ten- 
der relations  concerned  in  it  —  father,  brother,  sister  — 
so  powerfully  affected  me,  that  I  had  no  command  over 
the  feelings  then  excited,  even  though  Mr.  Cambridge 
almost  reproved  me  for  want  of  fortitude ;  but  there  was 
something  so  tender  in  a  prayer  of  a  brother  for  a  sister. 

Here,  however,  I  was  under  better  control ;  for  though 
my  whole  heart  was  filled  with  the  calamitous  state  of  this 
unhappy  monarch,  and  with  deepest  affliction  for  all  his 
family,  I  yet  knew  so  well  my  reader  was  one  to  severely 
censure  all  failure  in  calmness  and  firmness,  that  I  strug- 
gled, and  not  ineffectually,  to  hear  him  with  a  steadiness 
like  his  own.  But,  fortunately  for  the  relief  of  this  force, 
he  left  the  room  for  a  few  minutes  to  see  if  he  was 
wanted,  and  I  made  use  of  his  absence  to  give  a  little 
vent  to  those  tears  which  I  had  painfully  restrained  in  his 
presence. 

When  he  returned  we  had  one  of  the  best  (on  his  part) 
conversations  in  which  I  have  ever  been  engaged,  upon  the 
highest  and  most  solemn  of  all  subjects,  prayers  and  sup- 
plications to  heaven.  He  asked  my  opinion  with  earnest- 
ness, and  gave  his  own  with  unbounded  openness. 

Saturday,  November  15th.  —  This  morning  my  poor 
Royal  mistress  herself  presented  me  with  one  of  the  prayers 
for  the  King.  I  sliall  always  keep  it ;  how  —  how  fer- 
vently did  I  use  it !     Whilst  I  was  at  breakfast  Mr.  Fairly 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  59 

once  more  called  before  he  set  off  for  town ;  and  he  brought 
me  also  a  copy  of  the  prayer.  He  had  received  a  large 
packet  of  them  from  the  Archbishop,  Dr.  Moore,  to  dis- 
tribute in  the  house. 

The  whole  day  the  King  continued  amended. 

Sunday,  November  16th.  —  This  morning  I  ventured 
out  to  church.  I  did  not  like  to  appear  abroad,  but  yet  I 
had  a  most  irresistible  earnestness  to  join  the  public  con- 
gregation in  the  prayer  for  the  King.  Indeed  nothing 
could  be  more  deeply  moving :  the  very  sound  of  the 
cathedral  service,  performed  in  his  own  chapel,  overset  me 
at  once ;  and  every  prayer  in  the  service  in  which  he  was 
mentioned  brought  torrents  of  tears  from  all  the  suppliants 
that  joined  in  them.  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  place, 
scarce  command  my  voice  from  audible  sobs.  To  come  to 
the  House  of  prayer  from  such  a  house  of  woe !  I  ran 
away. when  the  service  was  over,  to  avoid  inquiries. 

The  King  was  worse.  His  night  had  been  very  bad ;  all 
the  fair  promise  of  amendment  was  shaken ;  he  had  now 
some  symptoms  even  dangerous  to  his  life.  Oh,  good 
Heaven,  what  a  day  did  this  prove  !  I  saw  not  a  human 
face,  save  at  dinner ;  and  then,  what  faces  I  gloom  and  de- 
spair in  all,  and  silence  to  every  species  of  intelligence. 

The  good  bishop  of  Worcester  came,  but  he  could  only 
see  the  Queen ;  overwhelmed  with  grief  for  the  situation 
of  his  unhappy  King  and  patron,  he  could  bear  no  inter- 
view he  had  power  to  shun. 

Mr.  Smelt  came  to  Windsor,  and,  by  means  of  certain 
management,  dined  here,  but  hastened  to  Kew  immediately 
afterwards.  In  how  many  ways  had  I  reason  to  repine  at 
his  most  ungrateful  treatment ! 

So  full  of  horror  was  my  mind  that  I  could  not  even 
read;  books  of  devotion  excepted,  I  found  it  impossible 
even  to  try  to  read,  for  I  had  not  courage  to  take  anything 


60  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

in  hand.  At  the  cathedral  a  sort  of  hymn  had  occurred 
to  me,  and  that  I  wrote  down  on  my  return ;  and  that 
alone  could  divide  my  attention  with  listening  for  foot- 
steps at  the  door.  No  footsteps,  however,  approached : 
my  only  friend  and  intelligencer  gone,  not  another  in  the 
house  could  even  dream  of  the  profound  ignorance  in 
which,  during  his  absence,  I  was  kept.  My  morning  at- 
tendance upon  the  Queen,  indeed,  was  informing,  as  far  as 
it  was  tete-a-tete,  but  after  that  I  saw  her  no  more  till 
night,  and  then  never  alone. 

It  was  melancholy  to  see  the  crowds  of  former  welcome 
visitors  who  were  now  denied  access.  The  Prince  reite- 
rated his  former  orders  ;  and  I  perceived  from  my  window 
those  who  had  ventured  to  the  door  returning  back  in 
deluges  of  tears.  Amongst  them  to-day  I  perceived  poor 
Lady  Effingham,  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster,  and  Mr.  Bry- 
ant ;  the  last  sent  me  in,  afterwards,  a  mournful  little  let- 
ter, to  which  he  desired  no  answer.  Indeed  I  was  not  at 
liberty  to  write  a  word. 

Wednesday,  NovexMBER  19th.  —  The  account  of  the 
dear  King  this  morning  was  rather  better. 

Sir  Lucas  Pepys  was  now  called  in,  and  added  to  Dr. 
Warren,  Dr.  Heberden,  and  Sir  George  Baker.  I  earnestly 
wished  to  see  him,  and  I  found  my  poor  Eoyal  mistress 
was  secretly  anxious  to  know  his  opinion.  I  sent  to  beg 
to  speak  with  him,  as  soon  as  the  consultation  was  over ; 
determined,  however,  to  make  that  request  no  more  if  he 
was  as  shy  of  giving  information  as  Dr.  Warren. 

Poor  Mr.  de  Luc  was  with  me  when  he  came ;  but  it 
was  necessary  I  should  see  Sir  Lucas  alone,  that  I  might 
have  a  better  claim  upon  his  discretion :  nevertheless  I 
feared  he  would  have  left  me,  without  the  smallest  intelli- 
gence, before  I  was  able  to  make  my  worthy,  but  most 
slow  companion  comprehend  the  necessity  of  his  absence. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  61 

The  moment  we  were  alone,  Sir  Lucas  opened  upon  the 
subject  in  the  most  comfortable  manner.  He  assured  me 
there  was  nothing  desponding  in  the  case,  and  that  his 
Koyal  Patient  would  certainly  recover,  though  not  imme- 
diately. 

Whilst  I  was  in  the  midst  of  the  almost  speechless  joy 
with  which  I  heard  this  said,  and  ready  to  kiss  the  very 
feet  of  Sir  Lucas  for  words  of  such  delight,  a  rap  at  my 
door  made  me  open  it  to  Mr.  Fairly,  who  entered,  saying, 
"  I  must  come  to  ask  you  how  you  do,  though  I  have  no 
good  news  to  bring  you  ;  but  —  " 

He  then,  with  the  utmost  amaze,  perceived  Sir  Lucas. 
In  so  very  many  visits  he  had  constantly  found  me  alone, 
that  I  really  believe  he  had  hardly  thought  it  possible  he 
should  see  me  in  any  other  way. 

They  then  talked  over  the  poor  King's  situation,  and  Sir 
Lucas  was  very  open  and  comforting.  How  many  sad 
meetings  have  I  had  with  him  heretofore  ;  first  in  the 
alarming  attacks  of  poor  Mr.  Thrale,  and  next  in  the  ago- 
nizing fluctuations  of  his  unhappy  widow  !  Ah,  my  dear- 
est friends,  whom  shall  we  pity  so  much  as  those  who 
neglect  to  habituate  those  imperious  assaulters  of  all  virtue 
and  all  self-denial,  the  Passions,  to  the  control  of  Patience  ? 
For  that,  I  begin  to  think,  is  more  properly  their  Superior 
than  Eeason,  which,  in  many  cases,  finds  it  hard  not  to 
join  with  them. 

Sir  Lucas  wished  to  speak  with  me  alone,  as  he  had 
something  he  wanted,  through  me,  to  communicate  to  the 
Queen ;  but  as  he  saw  Mr.  Fairly  not  disposed  to  retire 
first,  by  his  manner  of  saying  "  Sir  Lucas,  you  will  find 
all  the  breakfast  ready  below  stairs,"  he  made  his  bow, 
and  said  he  would  see  me  again. 

Mr.  Fairly  then  informed  me  he  was  quite  uneasy  at 
the  recluse  life   led   by  the  Queen    and   the   Princesses, 


62  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

and  that  he  was  anxious  to  prevail  with  them  to  take  a 
little  air,  w^hich  must  be  absolutely  necessary  to  their 
health.  He  was  projecting  a  scheme  for  this  purpose, 
which  required  the  assistance  of  the  Duke  of  York,  and 
he  left  me,  to  confer  upon  it  with  his  Eoyal  Highness, 
promising  to  return  and  tell  his  success. 

Sir  Lucas  soon  came  back,  and  then  gave  me  such  une- 
quivocal assurances  of  the  King's  recovery,  that  the  mo- 
ment he  left  me  I  flew  to  demand  a  private  audience  of 
the  Queen,  that  I  might  relate  such  delightful  prognostics. 

The  Duke  of  York  was  with  her.  I  waited  in  the  pas- 
sage, where  I  met  Lady  Charlotte  Finch,  and  tried  what  I 
could  to  instil  into  her  mind  the  hopes  I  entertained  ;  this, 
however,  was-  not  possible ;  a  general  despondency  pre- 
vailed throughout  the  house,  and  Lady  Charlotte  was  in- 
fected by  it  very  deeply. 

Lady  Elizabeth  Waldegrave  then  passed,  and  made  me 
go  and  wait  in  her  room  with  her  sister  till  the  Duke  left 
the  Queen.  Nothing  can  deserve  more  commendation  than 
the  steady  good  conduct  and  propriety  of  Lady  Elizabeth 
Waldegrave,  who  seems  more  uniformly  to  do  precisely 
what  is  right,  and  neither  more  nor  less,  than  almost  any 
character  I  have  met. 

At  length  I  gained  admission  and  gave  my  account, 
which  was  most  meekly  received  by  the  most  patient  of 
sorrowers. 

Thursday,  November  20th.  —  Poor  Miss  Golds  worthy 
was  now  quite  ill,  and  forced  to  retire  and  nurse.  No 
wonder,  for  she  had  suffered  the  worst  sort  of  fatigue,  that 
of  fearing  to  sleep,  from  the  apprehension  the  Queen  might 
speak,  and  want  her ;  for,  though  the  Queen  was  all  gra- 
ciousness  and  consideration,  the  situation  could  not  admit 
of  ease  and  repose. 

Lady  Elizabeth  "Waldegrave  now  took  her  place  of  sleep- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  63 

ing  in  the  Queen's  room,  but  the  office  of  going  for  early 
intelligence  how  his  Majesty  had  passed  the  night  de- 
volved upon  me. 

Exactly  at  seven  o'clock  I  now  went  to  the  Queen's  apart- 
ment ;  Lady  Elizabeth  then  rose  and  went  to  her  own  room 
to  dress,  and  I  received  the  Queen's  commands  for  my  inqui- 
ries. 

I  could  not,  however,  go  myself  into  the  room  where 
they  assembled,  which  Miss  Golds  worthy,  who  always  ap- 
plied to  her  brother,  had  very  properly  done.  I  sent  in  a 
message  to  beg  to  speak  with  General  Bud^,  or  whoever 
could  bring  an  account. 

Mr.  Charles  Hawkins  came ;  he  had  sat  up.  Oh,  how 
terrible  -a  narrative  did  he  dryly  give  of  the  night !  —  short, 
abrupt,  peremptorily  bad,  and  indubitably  hopeless  !  I  did 
not  dare  alter,  but  I  greatly  softened  this  relation,  in  giving 
it  to  my  poor  Queen.  I  had  been,  indeed,  too  much  shocked 
by  the  hard  way  in  which  I  had  been  told  it,  to  deliver  it  in 
the  same  manner ;  neither  did  I,  in  my  own  heart,  despair. 

I  saw  Sir  Lucas  afterwards,  who  encouraged  all  my  more 
sanguine  opinions.  He  told  me  many  new  regulations  had 
been  made.  His  Majesty  was  to  be  kept  as  quiet  as  pos- 
sible, and  see  only  physicians,  except  for  a  short  and  stated 
period  in  every  day,  during  which  he  might  summon  such 
among  his  gentlemen  as  he  pleased. 

Friday,  November  21st. — All  went  better  and  better 
to-day,  and  I  received  from  the  King's  room  a  more  cheer- 
ing account  to  carry  to  my  poor  Queen.  We  had  now 
hopes  of  a  speedy  restoration :  the  King  held  long  con- 
ferences with  all  his  gentlemen,  and,  though  far  from  com- 
posed, was  so  frequently  rational  as  to  make  any  resistance 
to  his  will  nearly  impossible.  Innumerable  difficulties 
attended  this  state,  but  the  general  promise  it  gave  of  a 
complete  recovery  recompensed  them  all 


64  DIARY   AND   LETTEES  [1788. 

Sir  Lucas  Pepys  came  to  me  in  the  morning,  and  ac- 
quainted me  with  the  rising  hopes  of  amendment.  But 
he  disapproved  the  admission  of  so  many  gentlemen,  and 
would  have  limited  the  license  to  only  the  Equerry  in 
waiting,  Colonel  Golds  worthy,  and  Mr.  Fairly,  who  was 
now  principal  throughout  the  house,  in  universal  trust  for 
his  superior  judgment. 

This  was  the  most  serene,  and  even  cheerful  evening  I 
had  passed  since"  the  poor  King's  first  seizure. 

Saturday,  November  22nd. — When  I  went  for  my 
morning  inquiries.  Colonel  Manners  came  out  to  me.  He 
could  give  me  no  precise  account,  as  the  sitters-up  had  not 
yet  left  the  King,  but  he  feared  the  night  had  been  bad. 
We  mutually  bewailed  the  mournful  state  of  the  house. 
He  is  a  very  good  creature  at  heart,  though  as  unformed  as 
if  he  had  just  left  Eton  or  Westminster.  But  he  loves  his 
Master  with  a  true  and  faithful  heart,  and  is  almost  as 
ready  to  die  as  to  live  for  him,  if  any  service  of  that  risk 
was  proposed  to  him. 

While  the  Queen's  hair  was  dressing,  though  only  for  a 
close  cap,  I  was  sent  again.  Colonel  Manners  came  out  to 
me,  and  begged  I  would  enter  the  music-room,  as  Mr. 
Keate,  the  surgeon,  had  now  just  left  the  King,  and  was 
waiting  to  give  me  an  account  before  he  laid  down.  I 
found  him  in  his  night-cap :  he  took  me  up  to  a  window, 
and  gave  me  but  a  dismal  history ;  the  night  had  been 
very  unfavorable,  and  the  late  amendment  very  transient. 

I  heard  nothing  further  till  the  evening,  when  my  con- 
stant companion  came  to  me.  All,  he  said,  was  bad :  he 
had  been  summoned  and  detained  nearly  all  the  morning, 
and  had  then  rode  to  St.  Leonard's  to  get  a  little  rest,  as 
he  would  not  return  till  after  dinner.  He  had  but  just 
begun  his  tea  when  his  name  was  called  aloud  in  the 
passage :  up  he  started,  seized  his  hat,  and  with  a  hasty 


1788.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  65 

bow,  decamped.     I  fancy  it  was  one  of  the  Princes  ;  and 
the  more,  as  he  did  not  come  back. 

Sunday,  November  23rd.  —  A  sad  day  this!  I  M^as 
sent  as  usual  for  the  night  account,  which  I  had  given  to 
me  by  Mr.  Fairly,  and  a  very  dismal  one  indeed.  Yet  I 
never,  upon  this  point,  yield  implicitly  to  his  opinion,  as 
I  see  him  frequently  of  the  despairing  side,  and  as  for  my- 
self, I  thank  God,  my  hopes  never  wholly  fail.  A  certain 
faith  in  his  final  recovery  has  uniformly  supported  my 
spirits  from  the  beginning. 

I  ventured  once  more  to  the  cathedral,  to  join  in  the 
public  prayer.  There  I  was  seen  by  poor  Madame  la  Fite, 
who  lamented  her  banishment  from  the  house  in  bitter 
comj)]aints.  I  could  but  tell  her  it  was  universal.  "  But, 
my  ch^re  Madame,"  cried  she,  "  do  you  see  moch  ce  Mon- 
sieur si  digne,  ce  Mr.  Fairly  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  when  he  had  any  spare  time." 
And  promised,  in  happier  days,  she  also  should  see  him ; 
to  her  great  content. 

Dr.  Duval  preached  a  sermon,  from  Job,  very  applicable 
and  very  well,  all  exhorting  to  trust  in  God,  however  hope- 
less in  man. 

Sir  Lucas  came  to  me  on  my  return,  and  was  still  very 
comfortable.  How  much  I  owed  him  for  his  cheer  at  such 
a  season !  There  now  remained  no  other  on  the  side 
of  hope ;  all  were  dispirited,  and  the  King  undoubtedly 
worse. 

In  the  evening,  a  small  tap  at  my  door,  with  "  Here  I 
am  again,"  ushered  in  Mr.  Fairly.  He  seemed  much 
hurried  and  disturbed,  and  innately  uncomfortable ;  and 
very  soon  he  entered  into  a  detail  of  the  situation  of  affairs 
that  saddened  me  in  the  extreme.  The  poor  King  was 
very  ill  indeed,  and  so  little  aware  of  his  own  condition, 
that  he  would  submit  to  no  rule,  and  chose  to  have  com- 


66  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

pany  with  him  from  morning  till  night,  sending  out  for 
the  gentlemen  one  after  another  without  intermission,  and 
chiefly  for  Mr.  Fairly,  who,  conscious  it  was  hurtful  to 
his  Majesty,  and  nearly  worn  out  himself,  had  now  no 
chance  of  respite  or  escape  but  by  leaving  the  house  and 
riding  out. 

I  have  never  seen  him  so  wearied,  or  so  vexed,  I  know 
not  which.  "  How  shall  I  rejoice,"  he  cried,  "  when  all 
this  is  over,  and  I  can  turn  my  back  to  this  scene." 

I  should  rejoice,  I  said,  for  him  when  he  could  make  his 
escape ;  but  his  use  here,  in  the  whole  round,  is  infinite  ; 
almost  nothing  is  done  without  consulting  him. 

"  I  wish,"  he  cried,  while  he  was  making  some  memoran- 
dums, "  I  could  live  without  sleep  ;  I  know  not  how  to 
spare  my  night."  He  then  explained  to  me  various  miscel- 
laneous matters  of  occupation,  and  confessed  himself  forced 
to  break  from  the  confused  scene  of  action  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, where  the  tumult  and  bustle  were  as  overpowering  as 
the  affliction,  in  the  more  quiet  apartments,  was  dejecting. 
Then,  by  implication,  what  credit  did  he  not  give  to  my 
poor  still  room,  which  he  made  me  understand  was  his  only 
refuge  and  consolation  in  this  miserable  house  ! 

This  could  not  but  be  a  gratification  to  me  ;  and  the 
whole  of  his  confidential  discourse  was  in  so  openly  friendly 
and  unaffected  a  style,  that  it  was  a  gratification  without 
any  drawback. 

He  soon  put  down  the  book,  acknowledging  he  could  not 
command  any  attention.  "  But  I  hope,"  he  cried,  "  in  a  few 
days  to  see  you  more  comfortably." 

How  sincerely  did  I  join  in  that  hope ! 

He  then  hurried  off"  to  execute  some  business  for  her 
Majesty. 

About  ten  o'clock,  however,  he  came  back,  accompanied 
by  Lady  Charlotte  Finch,  and  each  of  them   begging   a 


1788.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  67 

million  of  pardons,  but  telling  me  they  had  a  commission 
to  execute  for  the  Queen,  and  no  place  not  crowded  with 
Princes,  physicians,  or  pages,  in  which  they  could  utter  a 
word  undisturbed. 

I  rejoiced  to  make  my  apartment  of  any  use  at  such  a 
period,  and  hastened  into  my  bedroom,  though  they  would 
have  me  remain  still.  But  I  had  no  claim  upon  the  confi- 
dence of  Lady  Charlotte  :  and  I  was  sure,  if  I  stayed,  Mr. 
Fairly  would  forget  I  had  none  also  upon  his.  I  took 
therefore,  a  book  and  a  candle,  and  left  them. 

When  they  had  finished  their  consultation  Lady  Char- 
lotte came  for  me,  and  Mr.  Fairly  went  away.  We  then 
talked  over  affairs  in  general,  but  without  any  comfort. 
She  is  no  hoper ;  she  sees  nothing  before  us  but  despair 
and  horror.  I  believe  myself,  indeed,  the  only  regular 
hoper  of  any  one  resident  in  the  house,  Mr.  Fairly  him- 
self now  evidently  leans  to  the  darker  side,  though  he 
avoids  saying  so. 

Monday,  November  24th.  —  Very  bad  again  was  the 
night's  account,  which  I  received  at  seven  o'clock  this 
morning  from  Mr.  Dundas.  I  returned  with  it  to 
my  poor  Koyal  mistress,  who  heard  it  with  her  usual  pa- 
tience. 

While  I  was  still  with  her,  Lady  Elizabeth  came  with 
-a  request  from  Mr.  Fairly,  for  an  audience  before  her 
Majesty's  breakfast.  As  soon  as  she  was  ready  she  ordered 
me  to  teU  Lady  Elizabeth  to  bring  him. 

Soon  after,  with  a  hasty  rap,  came  Mr.  Fairly.  He 
brought  his  writing  to  my  table,  where  I  was  trying  to 
take  off  impressions  of  plants.  I  saw  he  meant  to  read 
me  his  letter ;  but  before  he  had  finished  it  Lady  Charlotte 
Finch  came  in  search  of  him.  It  was  not  for  the  Queen, 
but  herself ;  she  wished  to  speak  and  consult  with  him 


68  DIARY  AND  LETTERS  [1788. 

"upon  the  King's  seeing  his  children,  which  was  now  his 
vehement  demand. 

He  was  writing  for  one  of  the  King's  messengers,  and 
could  not  stop  till  he  had  done.  Poor  Lady  Charlotte, 
overcome  with  tenderness  and  compassion,  wept  the  whole 
time  he  was  at  his  pen  ;  and  when  he  had  put  it  down, 
earnestly  remonstrated  on  the  cruelty  of  the  present  regu- 
lations, which  debarred  his  Majesty  the  sight  of  the 
Princesses. 

I  joined  with  her,  though  more  firmly,  believe  me ;  my 
tears  I  suppress  for  my  solitude.  I  have  enough  of  that  to 
give  them  vent,  and,  with  all  my  suppression,  my  poor 
aching  eyes  can  frequently  scarce  see  one  object  from  an- 
other. 

When  Mr.  Fairly  left  off  writing  he  entered  very  deeply 
into  argument  with  Lady  Charlotte.  He  was  averse  to 
her  request ;  he  explained  the  absolute  necessity  of  strong 
measures,  and  of  the  denial  of  dangerous  indulgences,  while 
the  poor  King  was  in  this  wretched  state.  The  disease, 
he  said,  was  augmented  by  every  agitation,  and  the  disci- 
pline of  forced  quiet  was  necessary  till  he.  was  capable  of 
some  reflection.  At  present  he  spoke  everything  that  oc- 
curred to  him,  and  in  a  manner  so  wild,  unreasonable,  and 
dangerous,  with  regard  to  future  constructions,  that  there 
could  be  no  kindness  so  great  to  him  as  to  suffer  him  only 
to  see  those  who  were  his  requisite  attendants. 

He  tlien  enumerated  many  instances  very  forcibly,  in 
which  he  showed  how  much  more  properly  his  Majesty 
might  have  been  treated,  by  greater  strength  of  steadiness 
in  his  management.  He  told  various  facts  which  neither 
of  us  had  heard ;  and,  at  last,  in  speaking  of  the  most 
recent  occurrences,  he  fell  into  a  narrative  relating  to 
himself 

The  King,  he  said,  had  almost  continually  demanded 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  69 

him  of  late,  and  with  the  most  extreme  agitation ;  he  had 
been  as  much  with  him  as  it  was  possible  for  his  health  to 
bear.  "Five  hours,"  continued  he,  "I  spent  with  him  on 
Friday,  and  four  on  Saturday,  and  three  and  a  half  yester- 
day ;  yet  the  moment  I  went  to  him  last  night,  he  accused 
me  of  never  coming  near  him.  He  said  I  gave  him  up 
entirely ;  that  I  was  always  going  out,  always  dining 
out,  always  going  to  Mrs.  Harcourt's  —  riding  to  St. 
Leonard's ;  but  he  knew  why  —  't  was  to  meet  Miss 
Fuzilier." 

Lady  Charlotte  stared,  surprised,  I  saw,  at  his  naming 
that  lady,  and  in  a  voice  and  manner  so  entirely  disclaim- 
ing the  King's  imputation.  I  had  heard  him  before,  and 
my  surprise,  therefore,  was  over. 

"  Then,"  continued  he,  "  he  raved  about  my  little  boy, 
whom  he  said  I  loved  better  than  him  ;  and  —  and  —  so 
he  went  on  in  that-  sort  of  way  for  a  considerable  time, 
quite  enraged." 

Poor  Lady  Charlotte  was  answered,  and,  looking  ex- 
tremely sorry,  went  away. 

He  then  read  me  his  messenger's  letter.  'T  was  upon  a 
very  delicate  affair,  relative  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in 
whose  service  he  told  me,  he  first  began  his  court  prefer- 
ment. 

When  he  had  made  up  his  packet,  he  returned  to  the 
subject  of  the  King's  rage,  with  still  greater  openness. 
He  had  attacked  him,  he  said,  more  violently  than  ever 
about  Miss  Fuzilier;  which,  certainly,  as  there  had  been 
such  a  report,  was  very  unpleasant.  "And  when  I  se- 
riously assured  him,"  he  added,  "  that  there  was  nothing  in 
it,  he  said  I  had  made  him  the  happiest  of  men." 

I  found  the  Queen  at  night  very  much  disturbed,  and  all 
I  could  learn  assured  me  how  complicated  were  her  reasons 


70  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

for  disturbance ;  though  I  heard  no  particulars,  as  I  did 
not  see  Mr.  Fairly  again  at  night. 

Tuesday,  November  25th.  —  My  morning  account  was 
from  General  Bud4,  and  a  very  despairing  one.  He  has 
not  a  ray  of  hope  for  better  days. 

My  poor  Queen  was  so  much  pleased  with  a  sort  of 
hymn  for  the  King,  which  she  had  been  reading  in  the 
newspapers,  that  I  scrupled  not  to  tell  her  of  one  in  manu- 
script, which,  of  course,  she  desired  to  read ;  but  I  stipu- 
lated for  its  return,  though  I  could  not  possibly  stay  in 
the  room  while  she  looked  at  it.  I  would  copy  it  here  for 
my  dear  readers,  who  will  exclaim  and  declaim  against  me 
that  I  do  not ;  but,  in  truth,  at  this  moment  in  which  I  am 
writing,  I  know  not  where  to  find  it. 

In  the  evening  Mr.  Fairly  came,  entering  with  a  most 
gently  civil  exclamation  of  "  How  long  it  is  since  I  have 
seen  you ! " 

I  could  not  answer,  it  was  only  one  evening  missed ;  for, 
in  truth,  a  day  at  this  time  seems  literally  a  week,  and  a 
very  slow  one  too.'  He  had  been  to  town,  suddenly  sent 
by  the  Queen  last  night,  and  had  returned  only  at  noon. 

He  gave  me  a  full  account  of  all  that  was  passing  and 
projecting  ;  and  awfully  critical  everything  seemed.  "  He 
should  now  soon,"  he  said,  "  quit  the  tragic  scene,  and  go 
to  relax  and  recruit,  with  his  children,  in  the  country.  He 
regarded  his  services  here  as  nearly  over,  since  an  entirely 
new  regulation  was  planning,  in  which  the  poor  King  was 
no  longer  to  be  allowed  the  sight  of  any  of  his  gentlemen. 
His  continual  long  conversations  with  them  were  judged 
utterly  improper,  and  he  was  only  to  be  attended  by  the 
medical  people  and  his  pages." 

He  then  gave  into  my  hands  the  office  of  hinting  to  the 
Queen  his  intention,  if  he  could  be  dispensed  with  by  her 
Majesty,  to  go  into  the  country  on  the  12th  of  next  month 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  71 

(December),  with  his  boy  Charles,  who  then  left  Eton  for 
the  Christmas  holidays.  I  knew  this  would  be  unwelcome 
intelligence  ;  but  I  wished  to  forward  his  departure,  and 
would  not  refuse  the  commission. 

When  this  was  settled  he  said  he  would  go  and  take  a 
circuit,  and  see  how  matters  stood  ;  and  then,  if  he  could 
get  away  after  showing  himself,  return  —  if  I  would  give 
him  leave  to  drink  his  tea  with  me. 

He  had  not  been  gone  ten  minutes  before  Lady  Charlotte 
came  in  search  of  liim.  She  had  been  told,  she  said,  that 
he  was  with  me.  I  laughed,  but  could  not  forbear  asking 
if  I  passed  for  his  keeper,  since  whenever  he  was  missing 
I  was  always  called  to  account  for  him.  Again,  however, 
he  came  and  drank  his  tea,  and  stayed  an  hour,  in  most 
confidential  discourse. 

When  the  new  regulation  is  established,  only  one  gen- 
tleman is  to  remain  —  which  will  be  the  Equerry  in  wait- 
ing. This  is  now  Colonel  Goldsworthy.  The  rest  will 
disperse. 

Wednesday,  26th.  —  My  seven  o'clock  account  this 
morning  was  given  me  by  Mr.  Fairly  ;  and  a  very  gloomy 
one.  He  made  me  come  into  the  waiting-room  to  hear  it 
by  the  fire,  for  it  was  very  cold,  and  he  was  there  alone ; 
and,  indeed,  he  had  as  many  questions  to  ask  as  to  answer, 
for  he  thought  me  unwell  myself :  but  I  got  on,  nervous 
and  feverish  now  and  then,  but  never,  thank  heaven,  con- 
fined ;  and  at  this  time,  nothing  short  of  that  would,  by 
any  other  whom  I  now  see,  be  perceived. 

The  new  plan  of  operations  being  settled,  my  poor 
Queen  was  again  very  calm.  She  gave  me  back  my 
verses  with  very  gracious  thanks,  but  desired  a  copy.  I 
shall  trust  to  the  times  and  their  fulness  for  her  forget- 
ting this  request. 


72  DIA.RY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

Mr.  Fairly  returned  and  gave  me  his  usual  narrative. 
I  found  we  were  all  speedily  to  remove  to  Kew.  This  was 
to  be  kept  profoundly  secret  till  almost  the  moment  of 
departure.  The  King  will  never  consent  to  quit  Windsor ; 
and  to  allure  him  away  by  some  stratagem  occupies  all  the 
physicians,  who  have  proposed  and  enforced  this  measure. 
Mr.  Fairly  is  averse  to  it :  the  King's  repugnance  he  thinks 
insurmountable,  and  that  it  ought  not  to  be  opposed.  But 
the  Princes  take  part  with  the  physicians.  He  left  me  to 
ride  out,  but  more  cordial  and  with  greater  simplicity  of 
kindness  than  ever,  he  smilingly  said  in  going,  "  Well, 
good  bye,  and  G-od  bless  you." 

"Amen,"  quoth  I,  after  he  had  shut  the  door. 

In  the  afternoon  I  had  a  short  visit  from  Sir  Lucas,  who 
still  sustained  the  language  of  hope. 

Thursday,  27th.  —  This  morning  and  whole  day  were 
dreadful !  My  early  account  was  given  me  by  Mr.  Charles 
Hawkins,  and  with  such  determined  decision  of  incura- 
bility, that  I  left  him  quite  in  horror. 

All  that  I  dared,  I  softened  to  my  poor  Queen,  who  was 
now  harassed  to  death  with  state  affairs,  and  impending 
storms  of  state  dissensions.  I  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  spent  the  whole  day  by  her  side,  and  poured  in 
what  balm  of  hope  I  could,  since  it  appeared  but  too 
visibly  she  scarce  received  a  ray  from  any  other. 

Universal  despondence  now  pervaded  the  whole  house. 
Sir  Lucas,  indeed,  sustained  his  original  good  opinion,  but 
he  was  nearly  overpowered  by  standing  alone,  and  was 
forced  to  let  the  stream  take  its  course  with  but  little 
opposition. 

Even  poor  Mr.  de  Luc  was  silenced ;  Miss  Planta  easily 
yields  to  fear;  and  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  —  who  thinks  it 
treason  to  say  the  King  is  ever  at  all  indisposed  —  not 
being  able  to  say  all  was  quite  well,  forbade  a  single  word 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  73 

being  uttered  upon  the  subject !  The  dinners,  therefore 
became  a  time  of  extremest  pain  —  all  was  ignorance, 
mystery,  and  trembling  expectation  of  evil. 

In  the  evening,  thank  Heaven  !  came  again  my  sole 
relief,  Mr.  Fairly.  He  brought  his  son,  and  they  entered 
with  such  serene  aspect?!,  that  1  soon  shook  off  a  little 
of  my  gloom ;  and  I  heard  there  was  no  new  cause,  for 
though  all  was  bad,  nothing  was  worse.  We  talked  over 
everything ;  and  that  always  opens  the  mind,  and  softens 
the  bitterness  of  sorrow.  The  prospect  before  us,  with 
respect  to  Kew,  is  indeed  terrible.  There  is  to  be  a  total 
seclusion  from  all  but  those  within  the  walls,  and  those 
are  to  be  contracted  to  merely  necessary  attendants.  Mr. 
Fairly  disapproved  the  scheme,  though  a  gainer  by  it  of 
leisure  and  liberty.  Only  the  Equerry  in  waiting  is  to 
have  a  room  in  the  house ;  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  are 
to  take  their  leave.  He  meant,  therefore,  himself,  to  go 
into  the  country  with  all  speed. 

Friday,  28th.  —  How  woful  —  how  bitter  a  day,  in  every 
part,  was  this  ! 

My  early  account  was  from  the  King's  page,  Mr.  Still- 
ingfleet,  and  the  night  had  been  extremely  bad.  I  dared 
not  sink  the  truth  to  my  poor  Queen,  though  I  mixed 
in  it  whatever  I  could  devise  of  cheer  and  hope ;  and 
she  bore  it  with  the  most  wonderful  calmness,  and  kept 
me  with  her  a  full  half-hour  after  breakfast  was  called, 
talking  over  "  Hunter's  Lectures,"  and  other  religious  books, 
with  some  other  more  confidential  matters. 

Dr  Addington  was  now  called  in  :  a  very  old  physician, 
but  peculiarly  experienced  in  disorders  such  as  afflicted 
our  poor  King,  though  not  professedly  a  practitioner  in 
them. 

Sir  Lucas  made  me  a  visit,  and  informed  me  of  all  the 
medical  proceedings ;  and  told  me,  in  confidence,  we  were 


74  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

to  go  to  Kew  to-morrow,  though  the  Queen  herself  had  not 
yet  concurred  in  the  measure  ;  but  the  physicians  joined 
to  desire  it,  and  they  were  supported  by  the  Princes.  The 
difficulty  how  to  get  the  King  away  from  his  favorite 
abode  was  all  that  rested.  If  they  even  attempted  force, 
they  had  not  a  doubt  but  his  smallest  resistance  would  call 
up  the  whole  country  to  his  fancied  rescue  !  Yet  how,  at 
such  a  time,  prevail  by  persuasion  ! 

He  moved  me  even  to  tears,  by  telling  me  that  none  of 
their  own  lives  would  be  safe  if  the  King  did  not  recover, 
so  prodigiously  high  ran  the  tide  of  affection  and  loyalty. 
All  the  physicians  received  threatening  letters  daily,  to 
answer  for  the  safety  of  their  monarch  with  their  lives  ! 
Sir  George  Baker  had  already  been  stopped  in  his  carriage 
by  the  mob,  to  give  an  account  of  the  King ;  and  when  he 
said  it  was  a  bad  one,  they  had  furiously  exclaimed,  "The 
more  shame  for  you." 

After  he  left  me,  a  privy  council  was  held  at  the  Castle, 
with  the  Prince  of  Wales ;  the  Chancellor,  Mr.  Pitt,  and 
all  the  officers  of  state  were  summoned,  to  sign  a  permission 
for  the  King's  removal.  The  poor  Queen  gave  an  audience 
to  the  Chancellor  —  it  was  necessary  to  sanction  their  pro- 
ceedings. The  Princess  Pioyal  and  Lady  Courtown  at- 
tended her.     It  was  a  tragedy  the  most  dismal ! 

The  Queen's  knowledge  of  the  King's  aversion  to  Kew 
made  her  consent  to  this  measure  with  the  extremest  re- 
luctance ;  yet  it  was  not  to  be  opposed :  it  was  stated  as 
much  the  best  for  him,  on  account  of  the  garden :  as  here 
there  is  none  but  what  is  public  to  spectators  from  the  ter- 
race, or  tops  of  houses.  I  believe  they  were  perfectly 
right,  though  the  removal  was  so  tremendous. 

The  physicians  were  summoned  to  the  Privy  Council,  to 
give  their  opinions,  upon  oath,  that  this  step  was  necessary. 

Inexpressible  was  the  alarm  of  every  one,  lest  the  King, 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  75 

if  he  recovered,  should  bear  a  lasting  resentment  against 
the  authors  and  promoters  of  this  journey.  To  give  it, 
therefore,  every  possible  sanction,  it  was  decreed  that  he 
should  be  seen  both  by  the  Chancellor  and  Mr.  Pitt. 

The  Chancellor  went  into  his  presence  with  a  tremor 
such  as,  before,  he  had  been  only  accustomed  to  inspire  ; 
and  when  he  came  out,  he  was  so  extremely  affected  by 
the  state  in  which  he  saw  his  Royal  master  and  patron 
that  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  feet  had  diffi- 
culty to  support  him. 

Mr.  Pitt  was  more  composed,  but  expressed  his  grief 
with  so  much  respect  and  attachment,  that  it  added  new 
weight  to  the  universal  admiration  with  which  he  is  here 
beheld. 

I  went  very  late  to  the  Queen,  and  found  her  in  deep 
sorrow ;  but  nothing  confidential,  passed  :  I  found  her  not 
alone,  nor  alone  did  I  leave  her.  But  I  knew  what  was 
passing  in  her  mind  —  the  removing  the  King  !  —  its  diffi- 
culty and  danger  at  present,  and  the  dread  of  his  perma- 
nent indignation  hereafter. 

Saturday,  November  29th.  —  Shall  I  ever  forget  the 
varied  emotions  of  this  dreadful  day  ! 

I  rose  with  the  heaviest  of  hearts,  and  found  my  poor 
Royal  mistress  in  the  deepest  dejection  :  she  told  me  now 
of  our  intended  expedition  to  Kew.  Lady  Elizabeth 
hastened  away  to  dress,  and  I  was  alone  with  her  for 
some  time. 

Her  mind,  she  said,  quite  misgave  her  about  Kew:  the 
King's  dislike  was  terrible  to  think  of,  and  she  could  not 
foresee  in  what  it  might  end.  She  would  have  resisted 
the  measure  herself,  but  that  she  had  determined  not  to 
have  upon  her  own  mind  any  opposition  to  the  opinion  of 
the  physicians. 

The  account  of  the  night  was  still  more  and  more  dis- 


76  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

couraging :  it  was  related  to  me  by  one  of  the  pages,  Mr. 
Brawan ;  and  though  a  little  I  softened  or  omitted  particu- 
lars, I  yet  most  sorrowfully  conveyed  it  to  the  Queen. 

Terrible  was  tlie  morning  !  —  uninterruptedly  terrible  ! 
all  spent  in  hasty  packing  up,  preparing  for  we  knew  not 
wliat,  nor  for  how  long,  nor  with  what  circumstances,  nor 
scarcely  with  what  view  !  We  seemed  preparing  for  cap- 
tivity, without  having  committed  any  oflence ;  and  fur 
banishment,  without  the  least  conjecture  when  we  might 
be  recalled  from  it. 

The  poor  Queen  was  to  get  off  in  private :  the  plan 
settled  between  'the  Princes  and  the  physicians  was  that 
her  Majesty  and  the  Princesses  should  go  away  quietly, 
and -then  that  the  King  should  be  told  that  they  were 
gone,  which  was  the  sole  method  they  could  devise  to  pre- 
vail with  him  to  follow.  He  was  then  to  be  allured  by  a 
promise  of  seeing  them  at  Kew ;  and,  as  they  knew  he 
would  doubt  their  assertion,  he  was  to  go  through  the 
rooms  and  examine  the  house  himself. 

I  believe  it  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  her  Majesty  de- 
parted :  drowned  in  tears,  she  glided  along  the  passage, 
and  got  softly  into  her  carriage,  with  two  weeping  Prin- 
cesses, and  Lady  Courtown,  who  was  to  be  her  Lady-in- 
waiting  during  this  dreadful  residence. 

Then  followed  the  third  Princess,  Avith  Lady  Charlotte 
Finch.  They  went  off  without  any  state  or  parade,  and  a 
more  melancholy  scene  cannot  be  imagined.  There  was 
not  a  dry  eye  in  the  house.  The  footmen,  the  house- 
maids, the  porter,  the  sentinels  —  all  cried  even  bitterly  as 
they  looked  on. 

The  three  younger  Princesses  were  to  wait  till  the  event 
was  known.  Lady  Elizabeth  Waldegrave  and  Miss  Golds- 
worthy  had  their  Ptoyal  Highnesses  in  charge.  It  was 
settled  the  King  was  to  be  attended  by  three  of  his  gentle- 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  77 

men,  in  the  carriage,  and  to  be  followed  by  the  physicians, 
and  preceded  by  his  pages.  But  all  were  to  depart  on  his 
arrival  at  Kew,  except  his  own  Equerry-in-waiting.  It  was 
not  very  pleasant  to  these  gentlemen  to  attend  his  Majesty 
at  such  a  time,  and  upon  such  a  plan,  so  adverse  to  his  in- 
clination, without  any  power  of  assistance  :  however,  they 
would  rather  have  died  than  refused,  and  it  was  certain 
the  King  would  no  other  way  travel  but  by  compulsion, 
which  no  human  being  dared  even  mention. 

Miss  Planta  and  I  were  to  go  as  soon  as  the  packages 
could  be  ready,  with  some  of  the  Queen's  things.  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  was  to  remain  behind,  for  one  day,  in  order 
to  make  arrangements  about  the  jewels. 

In  what  confusion  was  the  house  !  Princes,  Equerries, 
Physicians,  Pages  —  all  conferring,  whispering,  plotting, 
and  caballing,  how  to  induce  the  King  to  set  off! 

At  length  we  found  an  opportunity  to  glide  through  the' 
passage  to  the  coach ;  Aliss  Planta  and  myself,  with  her 
maid  and  Goter.  But  the  heaviness  of  heart  wdth  which 
we  began  this  journey,  and  the  dreadful  prognostics  of  the 
.duration  of  misery  to  which  it  led  us  —  w^ho  can  tell  ? 

We  were  almost  wholly  silent  all  the  way. 

When  we  arrived  at  Kew,  we  found  the  suspense  with 
which  the  King  was  awaited  truly  terrible.  Her  Majesty 
had  determined  to  return  to  Windsor  at  night,  if  he  came 
not.     We  were  all  to  forbear  unpacking  in  the  meanwliile. 

The  house  was  all  now  regulated  by  express  order  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  rode  over  first,  and  arranged  all  the 
apartments,  and  writ,  with  chalk,  the  names  of  the  destined 
inhabitants  on  each  door. 

My  own  room  he  had  given  to  Lady  Courtown  ;  and  for 
me,  he  had  fixed  on  one  immediately  adjoining  to  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg's  ;  a  very  pleasant  room,  and  looking  into 
•the  garden,  but  by  everybody  avoided,  because  the  partition 


78  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

is  so  thin  of  the  next  apartment,  that  not  a  word  can  be 
spoken  in  either  that  is  not  heard  in  both. 

While  I  was  surveying  this  new  habitation,  the  Princess 
Eoyal  came  into  it,  and,  with  a  cheered  countenance,  told 
me  that  the  Queen  had  just  received  intelligence  that  the 
King  was  rather  better,  and  would  come  directly,  and 
therefore  I  was  commissioned  to  issue  orders  to  Columb  to 
keep  out  of  sight,  and  to  see  that  none  of  the  servants  were 
in  the  way  when  the  King  passed. 

Eagerly,  and  enlivened,  downstairs  I  hastened,  to  speak 
to  Columb.  I  flew  to  the  parlor,  to  ring  the  bell  for  him, 
as  in  my  new  room  I  had  no  bell  for  either  man  or  maid ; 
but  judge  my  surprise,  when,  upon  opening  the  door,  and 
almost  rushing  in,  I  perceived  a  Windsor  uniform  !  I  was 
retreating  with  equal  haste,  when  the  figure  before  me 
started,  in  so  theatric  an  attitude  of  astonishment,  that  it 
forced  me  to  look  again.  The  arms  were  then  wide  opened, 
while  the  figure  fell  back,  in  tragic  paces. 

Much  at  a  loss,  and  unable  to  distinguish  the  face,  T  was 
again  retiring,  when .  the  figure  advanced,  but  in  such 
measured  steps  as  might  have  suited  a'  march  upon  a 
stage. 

I  now  suspected  it  was  Mr.  Fairly ;  yet  so  unlikely  I 
thought  it,  I  could  not  believe  it  without  speech.    "  Surely,"- 

I  cried,  "  it  is  not  —  it  is  not "     I  stopped,  afraid  to 

make  a  mistake. 

The  laugh  now  betrayed  him  :  he  could  hardly  believe  I 
had  really  not  known  him.  I  explained  that  my  very  little 
expectation  of  seeing  him  at  Kew  had  assisted  my  near- 
sightedness to  perplex  me. 

But  I  was  glad  to  see  him  so  sportive,  which  I  found 
was  owing  to  the  good  spirits  of  bringing  good  news ; 
he  had  mounted  his  horse  as  soon  as  he  had  heard  the 
King  had  consented  to  the  journey,  and  he  had  galloped 


1788.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  79 

to  Kew,  to  acquaint  her  Majesty  with  the  welcome  tid- 
ings. 

I  rang,  and  gave  my  orders  to  Columb ;  and  he  then 
begged  me  not  to  hurry  away,  and  to  give  him  leave  to 
wait,  in  this  parlor,  the  King's  arrival.  He  then  ex- 
plained to  me  the  whole  of  the  intended  proceedings 
and  arrangements,  with  details  innumerable  and  most 
interesting. 

Dinner  went  on,  and  still  no  King.  We  now  began  to 
grow  very  anxious,  when  Miss  Plauta  exclaimed  that  she 
thouglit  she  heard  a  carriage.  We  all  listened.  "  I  hope  ! " 
I  cried.  "  I  see  you  do ! "  cried  he ;  "  you  have  a  very 
face  of  hope  at  this  moment  1  " —  and  it  was  not  disap- 
pointed. The  sound  came  nearer,  and  presently  a  carriage 
drove  into  the  front  court.  I  could  see  nothing,  it  was  so 
dark  ;  but  I  presently  heard  the  much-respected  voice  of 
the  dear  unhappy  King,  speaking  rapidly  to  the  porter,  as 
he  alighted  from  the  coach.  Mr.  Fairly  flew  instantly 
upstairs,  to  acquaint  the  Queen  with  the  welcome  tidings. 

The  poor  King  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  cj^uit  Wind- 
sor with  the  utmost  difficulty :  he  was  accompanied  by 
General  Harcourt,  his  aide-de-camp,  and  Colonels  Golds- 
worthy  and  Welbred  —  no  one  else  I  He  had  passed  all 
the  rest  with  apparent  composure,  to  come  to  his  carriage, 
for  they  lined  the  passage,  eager  to  see  him  once  more ! 
and  almost  all  Windsor  was  collected  round  the  rails,  &c., 
to  witness  the  mournful  spectacle  of  his. departure,  which 
left  them  in  the  deepest  despondence,  with  scarce  a  ray  of 
hope  ever  to  see  him  again. 

The  bribery,  however,  which  brought,  was  denied  him  ! 
■ —  he  was  by  no  means  to  see  the  Queen  ! 

When  I  went  to  her  at  night  she  was  all  graciousness, 
and  kept  me  till  very  late.  I  had  not  seen  her  alone  so 
long,  except  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  morning,  that  I  had 


80  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

a  thousand  things  I  wished  to  say  to  her.  Yon  may  be 
sure  they  were  all,  as  far  as  they  went,  consolatory. 

Princess  Augusta  had  a  small  tent-bed  put  up  in  the 
Queen's  bed-chamber :  I  called  her  Eoyal  Highness  when 
the  Queen  dismissed  me.  She  undressed  in  an  adjoining 
apartment. 

I  must  now  tell  you  how  the  house  is  disposed.  The 
whole  of  the  ground-floor  that  looks  towards  the  garden  is 
appropriated  to  the  King,  though  he  is  not  indulged  within 
its  range.  In  the  side  wing  is  a  room  for  the  physicians, 
destined  to  their  consultations  ;  adjoining  to  that  is  the 
Equerry's  dining-room.  ]\Irs.  Schwellenberg's  parlors,  which 
are  in  the  front  of  the  house,  one  for  dining,  the  other  for 
coffee  and  tea,  are  still  allowed  us.  The  other  front  rooms 
below  are  for  the  pages  to  dine,  and  the  rest  of  the  more  de- 
tached buildings  are  for  the  servants  of  various  sorts.- 

All  the  rooms  immediately  over  those  which  are  actually 
occupied  by  the  King  are  locked  up ;  her  Majesty  relin- 
quishes them,  that  he  may  never  be  tantalized  by  footsteps 
overhead.  She  has  retained  only  the  bedroom,  the  draw- 
ing-room, which  joins  to  it,  and  the  gallery,  in  which  she 
eats.  Beyond  this  gallery  are  the  apartments  of  the  three 
elder  Princesses,  in  one  of  which  rooms  Miss  Planta  sleeps. 
There  is  nothing  more  on  the  first  floor. 

On  the  second  a  very  large  room  for  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
and  a  very  pleasant  one  for  myself,  are  over  the  Queen's 
rooms.  Farther  on  are  three  bedrooms,  one  for  the  surgeon 
or  apothecary  in  waiting,  the  next  for  the  Equerry,  and  the 
third,  lately  mine,  for  the  Queen's  lady  —  all  written  thus 
with  chalk  by  the  Prince.  The  inhabitants  at  present 
are  Mr.  Charles  Hawkins,  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  and  Lady 
Courtown. 

Then  follows  a  very  long  dark  passage,  with  little  bed- 
rooms on  each  side  for  the   maids,  viz.  the  two  Misses 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  81 

Macenton,  wardrobe-women  to  the  Princesses,  their  own 
maid,  Lady  Courtown's,  Miss  Planta's,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's 
two  maids,  Mrs.  Lovel  and  Arline,  and  Mr.  Chamberlayne, 
one  of  the  pages.  These  look  like  so  many  little  cells  of 
a  convent.  Mrs.  Sandys  has  a  room  nearer  the  Queen's, 
and  Goter  has  one  nearer  to  mine.  At  the  end  of  this  pas- 
sage there  is  a  larger  room,  formerly  appropriated  to  Mr. 
de  Luc,  but  now  chalked  "  The  Physicians." 

One  Physician,  one  Equerry,  and  one  Surgeon  or  Apoth- 
ecary, are  regularly  to  sleep  in  the  house. 

This  is  the  general  arrangement. 

The  Prince  very  properly  has  also  ordered  that  one  of 
his  Majesty's  Grooms  of  the  Bedchamber  should  be  in 
constant  waiting;  he  is  to  reside  in  the  Prince's  house, 
over  the  way,  which  is  also  fitting  up  for  some  others. 
This  gentleman  is  to  receive  all  inquiries  about  the  King's 
health.  The  same  regulation  had  taken  place  at  Windsor, 
in  the  Castle,  where  the  gentlemen  waited  in  turn.  Though, 
as  the  Physicians  send  their  account  to  St.  James's,  this  is 
now  become  an  almost  useless  ceremony,  for  everybody 
goes  thither  to  read  the  bulletin. 

The  three  young  Princesses  are  to  be  in  a  house  belong- 
ing to  the  King  on  Kew  Green,  commonly  called  Princess 
Elizabeth's,  as  her  Eoyal  Highness  has  long  inhabited  it  in 
her  illness.  There  will  lodge  Miss  Goldsworthy,  Madlle. 
Montmoulin,  and  Miss  Gomme.  Lady  Charlotte  Finch  is 
to  be  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's. 

I  could  not  sleep  all  night  —  I  thought  I  heard  the  poor 
King.  He  was  under  the  same  range  of  apartments, 
though  far  distant,  but  his  indignant  disappointment 
haunted  me.  The  Queen,  too,  was  very  angry  at  having 
promises  made  in  her  name  which  could  not  be  kept. 
What  a  day  altogether  was  this  ! 

Sunday,  November  30th.  —  Here,  in  all  its  dread  colors, 

VOL.  II.  6 


82  DIAKY  AND  LETTERS  [1788. 

dark  as  its  darkest  prognostics,  began  tlie  Kew  campaign. 
I  went  to  my  poor  Queen  at  seven  o'clock :  the  Princess 
Augusta  arose  and  went  away  to  dress,  and  I  received  her 
Majesty's  commands  to  go  down  for.  inquiries.  She  had 
herself  passed  a  wretched  night,  and  already  lamented 
leaving  Windsor. 

I  waited  very  long  in  the  cold  dark  passages  below, 
before  I  could  find  any  one  of  whom  to  ask  intelligence. 
The  parlors  were  without  fires,  and  washing.  I  gave  direc- 
tions afterwards  to  have  a  fire  in  one  of  them  by  seven 
o'clock  every  morning. 

At  length  I  procured  the  speech  of  one  of  the  pages,  and 
heard  that  the  night  had  been  the  most  violently  bad  of 
any  yet  passed  !  —  and  no  wonder ! 

I  hardly  knew  how  to  creep  upstairs,  frozen  both  within 
and  without,  to  tell  such  news  ;  but  it  was  not  received  as 
if  unexpected,  and  I  omitted  whatever  was  not  essential 
to  be  known. 

Afterwards  arrived  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  so  oppressed 
between  her  spasms  and  the  house's  horrors,  that  the  op- 
pression she  inflicted  ought  perhaps  to  be  pardoned.  It 
was,  however,  difficult  enough  to  bear  •  Harshness,  tyranny, 
dissension,  and  even  insult,  seemed  personified.  I  cut  short 
details  upon  this  subject  —  they  would  but  make  you  sick- 

My  dear  Miss  Cambridge  sent  to  me  immediately.  I 
saw  she  had  a  secret  hope  she  might  come  and  sit  with  me 
now  and  then  in  this  confinement.  It  would  have  been 
my  greatest  possible  solace  in  this  dreary  abode:  but  I 
hastened  to  acquaint  her  of  the  absolute  seclusion,  and 
even  to  beg  she  would  not  send  her  servant  to  the  house : 
for  I  found  it  was  much  desired  to  keep  off  all  who  might 
carry  away  any  intelligence. 

She  is  ever  most  reasonable,  and  never  thenceforward 
hinted  upon  the  subject.     But  she  wrote  continually  long 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  83 

letters,  and  filled  with  news  and  anecdotes  of  much  interest 
relating  to  anythin-g  she  could  gather  of  out-house  proceed- 
ings, which  now  became  very  important  —  the  length  of 
the  malady  threatening  a  Regency  !  —  a  word  which  I 
have  not  yet  been  able  to  articulate. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt,  though  so  near,  came  not !  The 
Master  of  the  house  was  not  its  owner !  —  they  presumed 
not  to  enter  its  doors  ! 

Kew,  Monday,  December  1st.  —  Mournful  was  the 
opening  of  the  month !  My  account  of  the  night  from 
Gezewell,  the  page,  was  very  alarming,  and  my  poor  Royal 
■mistress  began  to  sink  more  than  I  had  ever  yet  seen.  No 
wonder;  the  length  of  the  malady  so  uncertain,  the  steps 
which  seemed  now  requisite  so  shocking :  for  new  advice, 
and  such  as  suited  only  disorders  that  physicians  in  general 
relinquish,  was  now  proposed,  and  compliance  or  refusal 
were  almost  equally  tremendous. 

I  had  half  an  hour  with  her  alone  before  she  summoned 
the  wardrobe-woman,  and  after  poor  Princess  Augusta  re- 
tired to  another  room  to  dress.  Again,  too,  at  noon,  she 
sent  for  me  before  her  other  attendants,  and  much  of  mel- 
ancholy confidence  ensued.  In  sadness  I  returned  from 
her,  and,  moping  and  unoccupied,  I  was  walking  up  and 
down  my  room,  when  Columb  came  to  say  Mr.  Fairly  de- 
sired to  know  if  I  could  see  him. 

Certainly,  I  said,  I  would  come  to  him  in  the  parlor. 

He  was  not  at  all  well,  nor  did  he  seem  at  all  comfort- 
able. He  had  undertaken,  by  his  own  desire,  to  purchase 
small  carpets  for  the  Princesses,  for  the  house  is  in  a  state 
of  cold  and  discomfort  past  all  imagination.  It  has  never 
been  a  winter  residence,  and  there  was  nothing  prepared 
for  its  becoming  one.  He  could  not,  he  told  me,  look  at 
the  rooms  of  their  Royal  Highnesses  without  shuddering 
for  them ;  and  he  longed,  he  said,  to  cover  all  the  naked, 


84  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

cold  boards,  to  render  them  more  habitable.  He  had -ob- 
tained permission  to  execute  this  as  a  commission :  for  so 
miserable  is  the  house  at  present  that  no  general  orders  to 
the  proper  people  are  either  given  or  thought  about ;  and 
every  one  is  so  absorbed  in  the  general  caljimity,  that  they 
would  individually  sooner  perish  than  offer  up  complaint 
or  petition.  I  should  never  end  were  I  to  explain  the 
reasons  there  are  for  both. 

Mr.  Fairly 's  confidential  favor  with  all  the  Eoyal  Family 
enables  him  to  let  the  benevolence  of  his  character  come 
forth  in  a  thousand  little  acts  and  proposals  at  this  cruel 
period,  which,  from  any  other,  would  be  regarded  as  a  lib- 
erty or  impropriety. 

What  he  must  next,  he  said,  effect,  was  supplying  them 
with  sand-bags  for  windows  and  doors,  which  he  intended  to 
bring  and  to  place  himself  The  wind  which  blew  in  upon 
those  lovely  Princesses,  he  declared,  was  enough  to  destroy 
them. 

When  he  had  informed  me  of  these  kind  offices,  he  began 
an  inquiry  into  how  I  was  lodged.  Well  enough,  I  said  ; 
but  he  would  not  accept  so  general  an  answer.  He  insisted 
upon  knowing  what  was  my  furniture,  and  in  particular  if 
I  had  any  carpet;  and  when  I  owned  I  had  none,  he 
smiled,  and  said  he  would  bring  six,  though  his  commission 
only  extended  to  three. 

He  did  not  at  all  like  the  parlor,  which,  indeed,  is 
wretchedly  cold  and  miserable :  he  M'ished  to  bring  it  a 
carpet,  and  new  fit  it  up  with  w^arm  winter  accommoda- 
tions. He  reminded  me  of  my  dearest  Fredy,  when  she 
brought  me  a  decanter  of  barley-water  and  a  bright  tin 
saucepan,  under  her  hoop.  I  could  not  tell  him  that  his- 
tory in  detail,  but  I  rewarded  his  good-nature  by  hinting 
at  the  resemblance  it  bore,  in  its  active  zeal,  to  my  sweet 
Mrs.  Locke. 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  85 

This  day  was  far  less  rigid  than  the  preceding  one,  as 
my  coadjutrix  began  to  recover  a  little  more  good  humor, 
and  as  I  was  called  down  in  the  evening  to  Sir  Lucas 
Pepys,  who  still  supports  hope  for  the  end,  and  again  to 
Mr.  Dundas,  who  gave  me  a  good  account  of  my  dear  Miss 
Cambridge,  whom  he  attends,  and  who  had  made  him  prom- 
ise her  that  he  would  actually  see  me,  in  order  to  satisfy  her 
I  was  really  living  and  looking  well.  She  had  suspected 
I  was  ill,  and  her  kind  heart  had  taken  an  alarm  which 
my  own  letters  could  not  remove. 

Tuesday,  December  2nd.  —  This  morning  I  was  blessed 
with  a  better  account  of  my  poor  King,  which  I  received 
from  Mr.  Dundas,  than  I  have  had  for  six  days  past.  With 
what  eager  joy  did  I  fly  with  it  to  my  Queen !  and  I  ob- 
tained her  leave  for  carrying  it  on  to  the  Princesses,  who 
otherwise  might  not  have  known  it  till  the  general  break- 
fast, at  nine  o'clock. 

I  took  this  fair  opportunity  to  propose  stepping  out  to 
call  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt,  as  they  would  not  come  to 
the  house,  and  I  had  received  a  most  melting  note  from 
both,  expressive  of  their  deep  unhappiness.  I  produced 
it :  it  drew  tears  from  the  poor  Queen  —  easily  now  drawn  ! 
and  she  assented  to  my  proposition.  I  hastened  therefore 
to  them,  and  met  the  kindest  but  most  melancholy  recep- 
tion :  yet  I  cheered  them  with  my  better  news,  and  would 
have  stayed  all  my  shoit  morning  to  enjoy  their  valuable 
society,  but  that  Mrs.  Harcourt  entered,  which,  as  it 
stopped  our  confidential  openness,  enabled  me  to  depart. 
Yet  she  made  herself  a  welcome,  for  she  brought  me  a  dear 
alive  from  my  sisters.  It  had  arrived  after  our  departure 
from  Windsor,  and  she  had  called  at  the  Queen's  Lodge  to 
see  the  little  Pi'incesses. 

I  had  also  a  short  interview  in  the  parlor  with  Sir  Lucas, 
but  a  comfortable  one.     The  Queen  afterwards  presented 


86  DIAKY  AND  LETTEKS  [1788. 

me  with  a  very  pretty  little  new  carpet ;  only  a  bed-side 
slip,  but  very  warm.  She  knew  not  how  much  I  was  ac- 
quainted with  its  history,  but  I  found  she  had  settled  for 
them  all  six.     She  gave  another  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

Wednesday,  December  3rd.  —  Worse  again  to-day  was 
the  poor  King :  the  little  fair  gleam,  how  soon  did  it  pass 
away ! 

I  was  beginning  to  grow  ill  myself,  from  the  added 
fatigue  of  disturbance  in  the  night,  unavoidably  occasioned 
by  my  neighborhood  to  an  invalid  who  summoned  her 
maids  at  all  hours  ;  and  my  Eoyal  mistress,  who  knew 
this  to  have  been  the  case  with  my  predecessor,  Mrs.  Hag- 
gerdorn,  spoke  to  me  about  it  herself ;  and,  fearing  I  might 
suffer  essentially,  she  graciously  issued  orders  for  a  removal 
to  take  place. 

In  consequence  of  this  there  were  obliged  to  be  two  or 
three  other  changes.  The  physician  in  waiting  was  re- 
moved, and  his-  room  made  over  to  me  ;  while  that  which 
I  had  at  first  occupied  was  deemed  impracticable  for  a 
sleeping-room  to  any  one. 

My  new  apartment  is  at  the  end  of  the  long  dark  pas- 
sage I  have  mentioned,  with  bedroom  cells  on  each  side  of 
it.  It  is.  a  very  comfortable  room,  carpeted  all  over,  with 
one  window  looking  to  the  front  of  the  house  and  two  into 
a  court-yard.  It  is  the  most  distant  from  the  Queen,  but 
in  all  other  respects  is  very  desirable.  I  have  made  it  as 
neat  as  I  could,  and  its  furniture  is  far  better  than  that  of 
my  own  natural  apartment,  which  my  Fredy  thought  so 
succinct ! 

I  must  now  relate  briefly  a  new  piece  of  cruelty.  I 
happened  to  mention  to  la  premiere  pr^dente  my  waiting 
for  a  page  to  bring  the  morning  accounts.  "And  where  do 
you  wait  ? " 

"  In  the  parlor,  ma'am." 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  87 

"  In  my  parlor  ?     Oh,  ver  well !     I  will  see  to  that !  " 

"  There  is  no  other  place,  ma'am,  but  the  cold  passages, 
which,  at  that  time  in  the  morning,  are  commonly  wet  as 
well  as  dark." 

"  Oh,  ver  well !  When-  everybody  goes  to  my  room  I 
might  keep  an  inn  —  what  you  call  hotel." 

All  good  liumor  now  again  vanished  ;  and  this  morning, 
when  I  made  my  seven  o'clock  inquiry,  I  found  the  parlor 
doors  both  locked  !  I  returned  so  shivering  to  my  Queen, 
that  she  demanded  the  cause,  which  I  simply  related ; 
foreseeing  inevitable  destruction  from  continuing  to  run 
such  a  hazard.  She  instantly  protested  there  should  be  a 
new  arrangement. 

Thursday,  December  4th.  —  No  opportunity  offered 
yesterday  for  my  better  security,  and  therefore  I  was  again 
exposed  this  morning  to  the  cold  dark  damp  of  the  miser- 
able passage.  The  account  was  tolerable,  but  a  threat  of 
sore-throat  accelerated  the  reform. 

It  was  now  settled  that  the  dining-parlor  should  be 
made  over  to  the  officers  of  state  who  came  upon  business 
to  the  house,  and  who  hitherto  had  waited  in  the  hall; 
and  the-  room  which  was  next  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's,  and 
which  had  first  been  mine,  was  now  made  our  salle  a  man- 
ger. By  this  means,  the  parlor  being  taken  away  for  other 
people,  and  by  command  relinquished,  I  obtained  once 
•again  the  freedom  of  entering  it,  to  gather  my  account  for 
her  Majesty.  But  the  excess  of  ill-wiU  awakened  by  my 
obtaining  this  little  privilege,  which  was  actually  neces- 
sary to  my  very  life,  was  so  great,  that  more  of  personal 
offence  and  harshness  could  not  have  been  shown  to  the 
most  guilty  of  culprits. 

One  of  the  pages  acquainted  me  his  Majesty  was  not 
worse,  and  the  night  had  been  as  usual.  As  usual,  too, 
was  my  day ;  sad  and  solitary  all  the  morning  —  not  soli- 


88  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

tary,  but  worse,  during  dinner  and  coffee.  Just  after  it, 
however,  came  the  good  and  sweet  Mr.  Smelt.  The  Prince 
of  Wales  sent  for  him,  and  condescended  to  apologize  for 
the  Windsor  transaction,  and  to  order  he  might  regain  ad- 
mission. How  this  was  brought  about  I  am  not  clear.  I 
only  know  it  is  agreed  by  all  parties  that  the  Prince  has 
the  faculty  of  making  his  peace,  where  he  wishes  it,  with 
the  most  captivating  grace  in  the  world. 

It  was  softening  to  these  rigid  days  to  see  Mr.  Smelt 
again,  even  in  ungenial  company.  But  it  was  only  soften- 
ing to  my  sight :  I  was  bowed  down  once  more  from  all 
strength  of  effort,  and  only  sat  silent  and  rejoiced  he  was 
there.  Between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  I  stole  away.  I 
was  of  no  use,  and  Mr.  Smelt  being  with  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  I  could  no  way  be  missed ;  and  I  wished  to  keep  up 
the  custom  lately  begun  at  Windsor,  of  rescuing  a  part,  at 
least,  of  my  evenings  for  myself.  Hitherto,  however,  as  I 
could  not  leave  her  alone,  I  had  not  left  her  at  all. 

Mr.  Fairly  told  me  this  evening  that  Dr.  Willis,  a  physi- 
cian of  Lincoln,,  of  peculiar  skill  and  practice  in  intel- 
lectual maladies,  had  been  sent  for  by  express.  The  poor 
Queen  had  most  painfully  concurred  in  a  measure  which 
seemed  to  fix  the  nature  of  the  King's  attack  in  the  face  of 
the  world ;  but  the  necessity  and  strong  advice  had  pre- 
vailed over  her  repugnance. 

Saturday,  December  6th.  —  The  accounts  now  of  the 
poor  King  vary  but  slightly ;  neither  the  better  nor  the 
worse  are  long  enough  either  for  permanent  joy,  or  thank 
God  !  alarm. 

The  Queen  told  me  afterwards  that  Mr.  Fairly  had  been 
recommending  Moir's  Sermons  to  her;  and  she  desired  me 
to  ask  him  for  a  full  direction  where  they  were  to  be  had, 

I  readily  undertook  the  little  commission,  much  pleased 
to  see  by  it  her  approbation  of  our  conferences.     For  well 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  89 

do  I  know,  had  she  disapproved  them,  even  slightly,  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  she  would  have  done  would  have 
been  authorizing  them  by  a  message  from  one.  to  the  other. 

As  he  had  told  me  he  should  go  to  town  to-day,  I  was 
upon  the  point  of  sending  Columb  to  him  with  a  message 
concerning  Moir,  when,  fortunately,  he  came  to  me,  to 
borrow  pen  and  ink  for  a  few  memorandums.  Notwith- 
standing much  haste,  he  could  not,  he  said,  go  till  he  had 
acquainted  liie  with  the  opening  of  Dr.  Willis  with  his 
Eoyal  patient.  I  told  him  there  was  nothing  I  more 
anxiously  wished  to  hear.  He  then  gave  me  the  full  nar- 
ration, interesting,  curious,  extraordinary  ;  full  of  promise 
and  hope.  He  is  extremely  pleased  -  both  with  the  doctor 
and  his  son.  Dr.  John.  He  says  they  are  fine,  lively, 
natural,  independent  characters.  I  quite  long  to  see  them. 
But  my  accounts  are  always  now  from  the  pages  or  the 
apothecaries,  Mr.  Battiscomb  and  Mr.  Dundas.  This  little 
history  gave  me  a  spirit  that  supported  me  through  the 
day  ;  and  at  night,  though  I  had  no  society,  I  retired  to  a 
little  quiet  reading.  Good  Mr.  Smelt  comes  regularly  every 
evening,  and  takes  my  place  at  the  card-table. 

Sunday,  December  7th.  —  Very  bad  was  this  morning's 
account,  and  very  mournful  all  the  day,  except  one  half-hour, 
at  my  breakfast,  in  which  I  had  the  most  pleasant  surprise 
of  a  visit  from  Mr.  Smelt.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  not 
visible,  and  therefore  he  ventured  to  come  on  to  my  room, 
and  beg  some  news.  I  promised  he  should  always  have  it 
if  he  would  always  come,  which  he  assured  me  would  be 
most  useful  to  the  peace  of  his  mind.  He  would  not  take 
any  breakfast,  as  Mrs.  Smelt  was  anxiously  waiting  his 
return. 

Monday,  December  8th.  —  The  accounts  began  mend- 
ing considerably,  and  hope  broke  in  upon  all. 
.   Tuesday,  December  9th.  —  All  gets  now  into  a  better 


90  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

channel,  and  the  dear  Royal  invalid  gives  every  symptom 
of  amendment.  God  be  praised  !  Mr.  Smelt  now  calls 
every  morning  at  breakfast-time,  and  I  have  the  infinite 
comfort  of  his  reviving  society  for  a  regular  half-hour  ;  and 
this  is  as  unknown  to  la  Presidcnte  as  the  visits  of  my 
other  consoler :  she  would  be  quite  outrageous  to  hear  of 
either. 

Mr.  Smelt  could  not  stay  this  evening,  and  therefore,  as 
soon  as  I  had  made  my  tea,  I  returned  to  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  as  she  was  alone,  and  more  civil,  and  requested  it. 

Wednesday,  December  10th.  —  Still  amending,  in  all 
but  my  evenings  ;  which  again,  except  one  hour  under  pre- 
tence of  drinking  tea,  are  falling  into  their  old  train. 

Thursday,  December  11th.  —  To-day  we  have  had  the 
fairest  hopes  ;  the  King  took  his  first  walk  in  Kew  garden ! 
There  have  been  impediments  to  this  trial  hitherto,  that 
have  been  thought  insurmountable,  though,  in  fact,  they 
were  most  frivolous.  The  walk  seemed  to  do  him  good, 
and  we  are  all  in  better  spirits  about  him  than  for  this 
many  and  many  a  long  day  past. 

Friday,  December  12th.  —  This  day  passed  in  much 
the  same  manner.  Late  in  the  evening,  after  Mr.  Smelt 
was  gone,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  began  talking  about  Mr. 
Fairly,  and  giving  free  vent  to  all  her  strong  innate  aver- 
sion to  him.  She  went  back  to  the  old  history  of  the 
"  newseepaper,"  and  gave  to  his  naming  it  every  unheard-of 
motive  of  spite,  disloyalty,  and  calumny !  —  three  qualities 
which  I  believe  equally  and  utterly  unknown  to  him.  He 
was  also,  she  said,  "  very  onfeeling,  for  she  had  heard  him 
laugh  prodigious  with  the  Lady  Waldegraves,  perticleer 
with  Lady  Carlisle,  what  you  call  Lady  Elizabeth  her  sis- 
ter ;  and  this  in  the  Xing's  illness."  And,  in  fine,  she 
could  not  bear  him. 

Such  gross  injustice  I  could  not  hear  quietly.     I  began 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  91 

a  warm  defence,  protesting  I  knew  no  one  whose  heart 
was  more  feelingly  devoted  to  the  Royal  Family,  except, 
perhaps,  Mr.  .Smelt ;  and  that  as  to  his  laughing,  it  must 
have  been  at  something  of  passing  and  accidental  amuse- 
ment, since  he  was  grave  even  to  melancholy,  except  wdien 
he  exerted  his  spirits  for  the  relief  or  entertainment  of 
others.  Equally  amazed  and  provoked,  she  disdainfully 
asked  me  what  I  knew  of  him  ?  I  made  no  answer.  I 
was  not  quite  prepared  for  the  interrogatory,  and  feared 
she  might  next  inquire  when  and  where  I  had  seen  him. 

My  silence  was  regarded  as  self-conviction  of  error,  and 
she  added,  "  I  know  you  can't  not  know  him  ;  I  know  he 
had  never  seen  you  two  year  and  half  ago ;  when  you 
came  here  he  had  not  heard  your  name." 

"  Two  years  and  a  half,"  I  answered,  coolly,  "  I  did  not 
regard  as  a  short  time  for  forming  a  judgment  of  any  one'.s 
character." 

"  AVhen  you  don't  not  see  them  ?  You  have  never  seen 
him,  I  am  sure,  but  once,  or  what  you  call  twice."  I  did 
not  dare  let  this  pass,  it  was  so  very  wide  from  the  truth ; 
but  calmly  said  I  had  seen  him  much  oftener  than  once  or 
twice. 

"  And  where  ?  when  have  you  seen  him  ? "  "  Many 
times ;  and  at  Cheltenham  constantly ;  but  never  to  observe 
in  him  anything  but  honor  and  goodness." 
■  "  Oh,  ver  well !  you  don't  not  know  him  like  me  ;  you 
can't  not  know  him  ;  he  is  not  from  your  acquaintance  — 
I  know  that  ver  well ! "  She  presently  went  on  by  her- 
self. "  You  could  not  know  such  a  person  —  he  told  me 
the  same  himself :  he  told  me  he  had  not  never  seen  you 
when  yovi  first  came.  You  might  see  him  at  Cheltenham  ; 
that  is  ■  true  ;  but  nothing  others,  I  am  sure.  At  Windsor 
there  was  no  tea,  not  wonce,  so  you  can't  not  have  seen 
him,  only  at  Cheltenham."      I  hardly  knew  whether  to 


92  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

laugh  or  be  frightened  at  this  width  of  error ;  nor,  indeed, 
whether  it  was  not  all  some  artifice  to  draw  me  out,  from 
pique,  into  some  recital :  at  all  events,  I  thought  it  best 
to  say  nothing,  for  she  was  too  affronting  to  deserve  to  b^ 
set  right. 

She  went  on  to  the  same  purpose  some  time,  more  than 
insinuating  that  a  person  such  as  Mr.  Fairly  could  never 
let  himself  down  to  be  acquainted  with  me ;  till,  finding 
me  too  much  offended  to  think  her  assertions  worth  an- 
swering,,she  started,  at  last,  another  subject.  I  then  forced 
myself  to  talk  much  as  usual.  But  how  did  I  rejoice  when 
the  clock  struck  ten  —  how  wish  it  had  been  twelve  ! 

Saturday,  December  13th.  —  Accounts  are  now  very 
tolerable,  and  the  sentiments  of  Sir  Lucas  Pepys  upon  the 
prospects  before  us  are  most  encouraging ;  and  I  have 
the  happiness  to  convey  them  to  my  Eoyal  mistress  upon 
every  visit  he  makes  here.  But  I  have  never  yet  seen 
Dr.  Willis.  I  never  go  downstairs  but  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  to  speak  to  the  page  or  apothecary  who  has 
sat  up  with  the  King. 
.  Sunday,  December  14th.  —  The  day  passed  much  as 
usual,  with  no  sensible  change  in  the  King. 

Monday,  December  15th.  —  This  whole  day  was  passed 
in  great  internal  agitation  throughout  the  house,  as  the 
great  and  important  business  of  the  Eegency  was  to  be 
discussed  to-morrow  in  Parliament.  All  is  now  too  pain- 
ful and  intricate  for  writing  a  w^ord.  I  begin  to  confine 
my  memorandums  almost  wholly  to  my  own  personal  pro- 
ceedings. 

Tuesday,  December  16th.  —  Whatsoever  might  pass  in 
the  House  on  this  momentous  subject,  it  sat  so  late  that 
no  news  could  arrive.  Sweeter  and  better  news,  however, 
was  immediately  at  hand  than  any  the  whole  senate  could 
transmit ;  the  account  from  the  pages  was  truly  cheering. 


1788.]  OF  MADAME  D'AEBLAY.  93 

With  what  joy  did  I  hasten  with  it  to  the  Queen,  who  im- 
mediately ordered  me  to  be  its  welcome  messenger  to  the 
three  Princesses.  And  when  Mr.  Smelt  came  to  my  break- 
fast, with  what  rapture  did  he  receive  it  !•  seizing  and  kiss- 
ing my  hand,  while  his  eyes  ran  over,  and  joy  seemed  quite 
to  bewitch  him.  He  flew  away  in  a  very  few  minutes,  to 
share  his  happiness  with  his  faithful  partner. 

After  breakfast  I  had  a  long  conference  in  the  parlor 
with  Sir  Lucas  Pepys,  who  justly  gloried  in  the  advance- 
ment of  his  original  prediction ;  but  there  had  been  much 
dissension  amongst  the  physicians  concerning  the  bulletin 
to  go  to  St.  James's,  no  two  agreeing  in  the  degree  of  tetter 
to  be  announced  to  the  world. 

Dr.  "Willis  came  in  while  we  were  conversing,  but  in- 
stantly retreated,  to  leave  us  undisturbed.  He  looks  a 
very  fine  old  man.  I  wished  to  be  introduced  to  him.  Mr. 
Smelt  and  Mr.  Fairly  are  both  quite  enchanted  with  all  the 
family ;  for  another  son  now,  a  clergyman,  Mr.  Thomas 
Willis,  has  joined  their  forces. 

Wednesday,  December  17th.  —  My  account  this  morn- 
ing was  most  afflictive  once  more :  it  was  given  by  Mr. 
Hawkins,  and  was  cruelly  subversive  of  all  our  rising  hopes. 
I  carried  it  to  the  Queen  in  trembling;  but  she  bore  it 
most  mildly.     What  resignation  is  hers  ! 

Miss  Planta  tells  me  the  Queen  has  given  her  commands 
that  no  one  shall  bring  her  any  account  of  the  night  but 
me.  She  has  been  teased,  I  fancy,  with  erroneous  rela- 
tions, or  unnecessarily  wounded  with  crviel  particulars. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  I  can  hardly,  when  my  narration  is  bad, 
get  out  the  words  to  tell  it;  and  I  come  upon  the  worst 
parts,  if  of  a  nature  to  be  indispensably  told,  with  as  much 
difficulty  as  if  I  had  been  author  of  them.  But  her  pa- 
tience in  hearing  and  bearing  them  is  truly  edifying. 
•  Mr;  Hawkins  to-day,  after  a  recital  of  some  particulars 


94  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1788. 

extremely  shocking,  said,  "  But  you  need  not  tell  that  to 
the  Queen."  "  I  could  not,  sir,"  was  my  true,  though  dry 
answer.  Yet  I  never  omit  anything  essential  to  be  known. 
Detail  is  rarely  of  that  character. 

Monday,  December  22nd.  —  With  what  joy  did  I  carry, 
this  morning,  an  exceeding  good  account  of  the  King  to  my 
Eoyal  mistress !  It  was  trebly  welcome,  as  much  might 
depend  upon  it  in  the  resolutions  of  the  House  concerning 
the  Eegency,  which  was  of  to-day's  discussion. 

Mr.  Fairly  took  leave,  for  a  week,  he  said,  wishing  me 
my  health,  while  I  expressed  my  own  wishes  for  his  good 
journey.  But,  in  looking  forward  to  a  friendship  the  most 
permanent,  I  saw  the  eligibility  of  rendering  it  the  most 
open.  I  therefore  went  back  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg ;  and 
the  moment  I  received  a  reproach  for  staying  so  long,  I 
calmly  answered,  "  Mr.  Fairly  had  made  me  a  visit,  to  take 
leave  before  he  went  into  the  country."  Amazement  was 
perhaps  never  more  indignant.  Mr.  Fairly  to  take  leave 
of  me  !  while  not  once  he  even  called  upon  her !  This 
offence  swallowed  up  all  other  comments  upon  the  com- 
munication. I  seemed  not  to  understand  it ;  but  we  had 
a  terrible  two  hours  and  a  half.  Yet  to  such,  now,  I  may 
look  forward  without  any  mixture,  any  alleviation,  for 
evening  after  evening  in  this  sad  abode. 

[N.B.     My  own  separate  adventures  for  this  month,  and 
year,  concluded  upon  this  day.     I  shall  comprise  the 
rest  in  a  page  or  two.] 
At  the  same  time  that  I  lost  my  acknowledged  friend,  I 
also  lost  Mr.  Smelt,  who  was  so  much  alarmed  by  an  ill- 
ness of  his  excellent  wife,  that  he  quitted  her  in  no  part 
of  the  day  except  the  morning,  when  he  came,  he  said,  for 
"  his  daily  support,"  to  my  little  apartment.     He  came,  he 
declared,  for  food,  just  as  instinctively  as  my  birds ;  for  I 


1788.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  95 

have  formed  a  small  receptacle  for  those  sweet  little  crea- 
tures, which  I  provide  with  food,  that  allures  them  in  this 
hard  weather  to  visit  me  in  troops.  And  they  are  so  tame, 
by  finding  themselves  always  supplied  and  never  disturbed, 
that  I  am  not  a  moment  wholly  deserted  by  them  till  sun- 
set. Mrs.  Smelt,  however,  thank  Heaven,  was  much  re- 
covered before  the  year  was  ended. 

Another  fortunate,  though  far  less  important  incident 
also  happened  :  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  took  a  very  great  fancy 
to  Madlle.  Montmoulin,  and  invited  her  to  play  at  cards 
almost  every  evening;  and  this  enabled  me  to  lengthen 
my  absence  till  ten  o'clock,  when  I  took  the  place  of 
Madlle.  Montmoulin,  who  returned  to  the  house  in  which 
she  lives,  with  the  younger  Princesses,  called  Princess 
Elizabeth's  House. 

The  King,  went  on,  now  better,  now  worse,  in  a  most 
fearful  manner ;  but  Sir  Lucas  Pepys  never  lost  sight  of 
hope,  and  the  management  of  Dr.  Willis  and  his  two  sons 
was  most  wonderfully  acute  and  successful.  Yet  so  much 
were  they  perplexed  and  tormented  by  the  interruptions 
given  to  their  plans  and  methods,  that  they  were  frequently 
almost  tempted  to  resign  the  undertaking  from  anger  and 
confusion. 


96  DIARY  AND   LETTERS.  [1780. 


CHAPTER    II. 

1789  —  1790. 

Kew  Palace,  Thursday,  January  1st. —  The  year 
opened  with  an  account  the  most  promising  of  our  beloved 
King.  I  saw .  Dr.  Willis,  and  he  told  me  the  night  had 
been  very  tranquil ;  and  he  sent  for  his  son,  Dr.  John 
Willis,  to  give  me  a  history  of  the  morning.  Dr.  John's 
narration  was  in  many  parts  very  affecting :  the  dear  and 
excellent  King  had  been  praying  for  his  own  restoration ! 
Both  the  doctors  told  me  that  such  strong  symptoms  of 
true  piety  had  scarce  ever  been  discernible  through  so 
dreadful  a  malady. 

How  I  hastened  to  my  Queen !  —  and  with  what  alacrity 
I  besought  permission  to  run  next  to  the  Princesses !  It 
was  so  sweet,  so  soothing,  to  open  a  new  year  with  the 
solace  of  anticipated  good  ! 

Oh  how  did  I,  afterwards,  delight  Mr.  Smelt !  He  came, 
as  usual,  at  my  breakfast,  but  he  could  hardly  get  away. 
Joy  in  the  beginning  of  a  year  that  succeeds  a  year  of  sor- 
row is  so  truly  buoyant  that  the  heart  seems  to  jump  with 
every  breath.  When,  however,  he  recollected  that  each 
instant  of  his  present  enjoyment  was  an  instant  lost  to  his 
valuable  partner,  he  hastened  to  that  his  best  participation. 

At  noon  he  came  back  again,  and  brought  Mr.  de  Luc, 
who  had  permission  to  enter  the  walls,  with  a  new  year's 
"ood  wishes.  I  told  the  two  Dr.  Willises  that  they  had 
given  to  the  whole  nation  a  new  year's  gift. 

Friday,  2nd.  —  AU  stiU  amends  in  the  great,  great  point. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  97 

Were  I  to  speak  of  smaller  matters,  I  could  not  use  so 
fair  a  phrase.  Let  the  King,  however,  recover;  and  then, 
between  the  partial  and  the  general  joy,  I  shall  revive. 

Saturday,  3rd.  —  I  have  the  great  pleasure,  now,  of  a 
change  in  my  morning's  historiographers  :  I  have  made 
acquaintance  with  Dr.  Willis  and  his  son,  and  they  have 
desired  me  to  summon  one  of  them  constantly  for  my 
information. 

I  am  extremely  struck  with  both  these  physicians.  Dr. 
Willis  ^  is  a  man  of  ten  thousand  ;  open,  honest,  dauntless, 
light-hearted,  innocent,  and  high-minded  :  I  see  him  im- 
jn-essed  with  the  most  animated  reverence  and  affection  for 
his  Eoyal  patient ;  but  it  is  wholly  for  his  character,  —  not 
a  whit  for  his  rank. 

Dr.  John,  his  eldest  son,  is  extremely  handsome,  and  in- 
herits, in  a  milder  degree,  all  the  qualities  of  liis  father ; 
but,  living  more  in  the  general  world,  and  having  his  fame 
and  fortune  still  to  settle,  he  has  not  yet  acquired  the 
same  courage,  nor  is  he,  by  nature,  quite  so  sanguine  in 
his  opinions.  The  manners  of  both  are  extremely  pleas- 
ing, and  they  both  proceed  completely  their  own  way,  not 
merely  unacquainted  with  court  etiquette,  but  wholly, 
and  most  artlessly,  unambitious  to  form  any  such  ac- 
quaintance. 

Friday,  9th.  —  I  might  write  enough,  were  I  to  enter 
upon  the  adventures  of  to-day;  but  as  they  all  consisted  in 

^  Dr.  Francis  Willis  was  a  native  of  Lincolnshire,  and  received  a  classi- 
cal education  at  Brasenose  College,  Oxford,  where  he  obtained  a  fellowship. 
In  1740  he  entered  into  Holy  Orders,  and  was  appointed  to  a  college  liv- 
ing ;  but  shortly  afterwards  he  devoted  himself  to  the  medical  profession, 
and  that  department  of  it  chiefly  which  was  connected  with  diseases  of  the 
mind,  without,  however,  abandoning  the  church.  He  established  a  pri- 
vate asylum  for  lunatics  at  Greatford,  in  his  native  county  ;  and  his  suc- 
cess there  led  to  his  being  intrusted  with  the  entire  management  of  the 
King's  case. 

VOL.  II.  7 


98  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

almost  unheard-of  indignities,  from  a  person  who  cannot 
fabricate  a  provocation  in  the  world  beyond  that  of  declin- 
ing to  spend  with  her  every  moment  not  spent  in  legal 
attendance,  —  why  I  will  not  give  the  sickening  relation  : 
I  will  only  confess,  the  treatment  these  last  two  days  has 
been  of  so  insulting  a  nature,  that  I  should  have  thought 
meanly,  not  meekly,  of  myself,  for  consenting  to  return  to 
her  table  or  her  room,  had  T  not  considered  the  apparent 
selfishness  there  would  seem  in  any  open  rupture  at  a  time 
of  such  material  distress.  I  bear  it,  therefore,  and  will 
bear  it  while  this  misery  lasts ;  but  I  think  that  must 
change,  or  I  must  change,  if  I  hear  it  longer. 

So  completely  overset  had  I  been  with  secret  rumina- 
tions of  what  there  was  to  recompense  endurance  of  such 
usage,  that  when  Mr.  Smelt  came  in,  after  coffee,  he  kindly 
inquired  if  I  was  taken  ill,  and  what  had  made  me  so  pale 
and  thin  all  at  once. 

I  saw  her  struck  —  with  sliame,  and,  I  really  believe,  a 
little  remorse ;  for  she  grew  more  civil  directly,  offered  me 
some  of  her  supper,  and  asked  why  I  did  not  sometimes 
go  out. 

When  I  went  away,  however,  for  my  tea,  I  thought  my 
least  resentment  might  authorize  my  returning  no  more; 
but  at  nine  o'clock  she  sent  me  a  message,  with  her  com- 
pliments, and  she  was  quite  alone,  if  I  would  be  so  good 
to  come :  so  there  was  no  help  for  going.  A  little  conces- 
sion from  a  proud  mind  is  a  great  pain ;  and  it  therefore 
appeases  accordingly.  I  proposed  piquet :  I  had  not  yet 
regained  voice  enough  for  talking.  It  was  gladly  accepted. 
I  can  give  no  other  interpretation  to  the  insulting  mode  of 
present  behavior,  except  the  incapacity  of  bearing  with 
patience  the  gloomy  confinement  inflicted  on  all  the  house ; 
which  renders  a  temper,  naturally  irascible,  fierce  and  fu- 
rious even  to  savageness. 


1789.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  99 

How  often  do  I  not  wish  I  might  but  be  allowed  to  see 
my  good  Miss  Cambridge  !  She  is  so  near  —  so  eager  to 
come  —  so  kindly  affectionate ;  what  a  lightener,  and  how 
innocent  a  one,  would  it  not  be,  to  this  burtbening  period ! 

Saturday,  10th.  —  The  King  is  again  not  so  well;  and 
new  evidences  are  called  for  in  the  house,  relative  to  his 
state.  My  poor  Royal  mistress  now  droops.  I  grieve  — 
ffrieve  to  see  her !  —  but  her  own  name  and  conduct  called 
in  question  !  —  who  can  wonder  she  is  shocked  and  shaken  ? 
Was  there  not  enough  before,  firmly  as  she  supported  it  ? 
But  it  is  evident,  my  dear  friends,  throughout  the  world, 
misfortune  is  better  endured  than  insult ;  even  though  the 
one  be  permanent,  and  the  other  transient. 

During  my  hour's  respite  of  this  evening,  while  I  was 
reading  "  Hunter's  Lectures  "  — which  were  lent  me  by  the 
Queen,  and  must  be  read  ere  returned  —  a  rap  at  my  door 
made  me  suppose  Mr.  Smelt  had  followed  me,  as  Mrs. 
Schwelleuberg  had  talked  of  going  to  the  Queen.  "  Who  's 
there  ?  "  I  called  out ;  but  the  voice  that  answered  was  Mr. 
Fairly's,  who,  in  slowly  opening  it,  mildly  said,  "  May  a 
friend  come  in,  and  ask  Miss  Burney  how  she  does  ? " 

When  he  had  made  me  shake  hands  with  him  across  my 
table,  he  hastened  to  peep  at  my  book.  He  is  just  like 
Dr.  Johnson  in  that  particular ;  he  cannot  rest  till  he  reads 
the  title,  when  once  he  has  seen  a  binding.  He  had  been 
sent  for  express,  by  her  ]\Iajesty.  In  these  perilous  times, 
I  wonder  not  she  could  dispense  with  his  services  no 
longer ;  wise,  good,  undaunted,  vigorous  —  who  has  she 
like  him  ? 

I  did  not  go  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  :  it  was  late.  I  ex- 
pected questions  and  reproaches :  my  mind  was  too  full  to 
encounter  them.  1  knew  she  could  but  tell  the  Queen  of 
my  absence,  and  her  surmises  ;  and  I  had  no  desire,  no 
intention,  to  keep  either  secret  from  her  Majesty.     I  re- 


100  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1789, 

solved  to  speak  myself,  as  usual,  of  my  visitor ;  and  if  by 
her  any  objections  were  made,  to  intimate  them  at  once  to 
Mr.  Fairly  himself,  without  scruple  or  reserve.  My  mind 
is  every  way  too  little  happy  to  run  the  smallest  risk  of 
the  disapprobation  of  my  lioyal  mistress. 

I  had  some  difficulty  to  seize  a  moment  for  my  commu- 
nication :  the  Queen  did  not  appear  surprised,  though 
rather  thoughtful.  She  asked  some  general  questions  con- 
cerning him,  and  tlien  spoke  of  other  things. 

Sunday,  11th.  —  This  morning  Dr.  John  gave  me  but  a 
bad  account  of  the  poor  King.  His  amendment  is  not 
progressive ;  it  fails,  and  goes  back,  and  disappoints  most 
grievously;  yet  it  would  be  nothing  were  the  case  and  its 
circumstances  less  discussed,  and  were  expectation  more 
reasonable. 

When  Mr.  Smelt  came  for  his  account  at  my  breakfast, 
and  had  joined  in  my  lamentation  that  it  was  not  more 
favorable,  he  talked  kindly  of  my  absence ;  yet,  drearily 
as  I  know  he  nnist  pass  his  subsequent  tete-a-tetes,  I  see 
him  frequently  shocked  inexpressibly,  though  silently,  at 
the  altered  person  he  meets  in  the  afternoon,  from  that 
with  which  he  parts  in  a  morning.  When  he  enters  that 
baleful  presence  after  an  attack,  the  depression  wldch  regu- 
larly succeeds  to  my  resentment  of  an  affront  affects  him 
even  visibly.  He  is  truly  amiable,  and  so  good  that  he 
bears  with  this  eternal  sacrifice  of  his  own  time,  purely  in 
gratitude  for  some  past  little  favors  and  obligations  which 
have  been  received  through  those  haughty  hands.  I  pity 
with  all  my  heart  whoever  has  been  obliged  by  those  they 
cannot  love. 

There  is  not  even  the  smallest  possible  provocation  to 
these  affronts,  except  from  envy  that  Sir  Lucas  Pepys 
gives  to  me  the  fair  hopes  I  distribute  to  the  Queen  and 
Princesses.    Yet  how  give  them  to  her,  whom  he  lias  never 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  101 

even  seen  ?  And  perhaps  the  visits  of  Mr.  Fairly  may 
help  to  irritate,  if  she  knows  their  frequency. 

Monday,  12th.  —  A  melancholy  day  :  news  bad  both  at 
home  and  abroad.  At  home,  the  dear  unhappy  King  still 
worse  —  abroad  new  examinations  voted  of  the  physicians  ! 
Good  Heaven.!  what  an  insult  does  this  seem  from  parlia- 
mentary power,  to  investigate  and  bring  forth  to  the  world 
every  circumstance  of  such  a  malady  as  is  ever  held  sacred 
to  secrecy  in  the  most  private  families !  How  indignant 
we  all  feel  here  no  words  can  say.^ 

Wednesday,  14x11.  —  I  must  now  mention  a  rather  sin- 
gular conversation.  I  had  no  opportunity  last  night  to 
name,  as  usual,  my  visitor ;  but  I  have  done  it  so  often,  so 
constantly  indeed,  that  I  was  not  uneasy  in  the  omission. 
But  this  morning,  while  her  hair  was  dressing,  my  Royal 
mistress  suddenly  said,  "  Did  you  see  anybody  yesterday  ?  " 

1  "  The  account  which  she  has  given  of  the  king's  illness  contains  much 
excellent  narrative  and  description,  and  will,  we  think,  be  more  valued  by 
the  historians  of  a  future  age  than  any  equal  })ortion  of  Pepys's  or  Eve- 
lyn's Diaries.  That  account  shows,  also,  how  affectionate  and  compassion- 
ate her  nature  was.  But  it  shows  also,  we  must  say,  that  her  way  of  life 
was  rapidly  impairing  her  powers  of  reasoning  and  her  sense  of  justice. 
We  do  not  mean  to  discuss  in  this  place  the  question  whether  the  views  of 
Mr.  Pitt  or  those  of  Mr.  Fox,  respecting  the  regency,  were  the  more  cor- 
rect. It  is,  indeed,  quite  needless  to  discuss  that  question:  for  the  censure 
of  Miss  Burney  falls  alike  on  Pitt  and  Fox,  on  majority  and  minority. 
She  is  angry  with  the  House  of  Commons  for  presuming  to  inquire  whether 
the  king  was  mad  or  not,  and  whether  there  was  a  chance  of  his  recover- 
ing his  senses.  ...  It  never  occurred,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  to  the  exons 
and  keepers  of  the  robes,  that  it  was  necessary  that  there  should  be  some- 
where or  other  a  power  in  the  State  to  pass  laws,  to  preserve  order,  to  par- 
don criminals,  to  fill  up  offices,  to  negotiate  with  foreign  governments,  to 
command  the  army  and  navy.  Nay,  these  enliglitened  politicians,  and 
Miss  Bumey  among  the  rest,  seem  to  have  thouglit  that  any  person  who 
considered  the  subject  with  reference  to  the  public  interest,  showed  him- 
self to  be  a  bad-hearted  man.  Nobody  wonders  at  this  in  a  gentleman- 
usher  ;  but  it  is  melancholy  to  see  genius  sinking  into  such  debasement." 
—  Lord  Macaulay ,  Essay  on  Madame  D' Arhlay. 


102  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

I  could  not  but  be  sure  of  her  meaning,  and  though  vexed 
to  be  anticipated  in  my  avowal,  which  had  but  waited  the 
departure  of  the  wardrobe-woman,  Sandys,  I  instantly  an- 
swered, "  Yes,  ma'am ;  Mr.  Smelt  in  the  morning,  and  Mr. 
Fairly  in  the  evening."    "  Oh  •  Mr.  Fairly  was  here,  then  ? " 

I  was  now  doubly  sorry  she  should  know  this  only  from 
me  !  He  had  mentioned  being  just  come  from  town,  but 
I  had  concluded  Lady  Charlotte  Finch,  as  usual,  knew  of 
his  arrival,  and  had  made  it  known  to  her  Majesty.  A 
little  while  after,  —  "  Did  he  go  away  from  you  early  ?  " 
she  said.  "No,  ma'am,"  I  immediately  answered,  "not 
early  ;  he  drank  tea  with  me,  as  he  generally  does,  I  believe, 
when  he  is  here  for  the  night." 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  she,  after  a  pause,  "  the  gentlemen  be- 
low do  not  drink  tea."  "  I  cannot  tell,  ma'am,  I  never 
heard  him  say ;  I  only  know  he  asked  me  if  I  would  give 
him  some,  and  I  told  him  yes,  with  great  pleasure."  Never 
did  I  feel  so  happy  in  unblushing  consciousness  of  inter- 
nal liberty  as  in  this  little  catechism  !  However,  I  soon 
found  I  had  mistaken  the  motive  of  the  catechism:  it 
was  not  on  account  of  Mr.  Fairly  and  his  visit  —  it  was 
all  for  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  her  no  visits  ;  for  she  soon 
dropped  something  of  "poor  Mrs.  Schwellenberg"  and 
her  miserable  state,  that  opened  her  whole  meaning.  Here, 
indeed,  I  was  not,  am  not  so  ready.  Treated  with  such 
truly  unprovoked  indignity  as  at  present,  I  can  suffer  no 
interference  to  make  me  relinquish  my  evening  retreat, 
which  is  very  rarely  for  more  than  one  poor  hour,  except 
when  I  leave  her  engaged  with  ]\lr.  Smelt  or  Mdlle.  Mout- 
moulin.  And  I  almost  constantly  return  at  last,  and  stay 
till  we  go  to  the  Queen,  which  is  hardly  ever  till  past 
twelve  o'clock,  and  which  always  seems  not  till  three  in 
the  morning. 

It  is  palpable  she  has  lodged  some  complaint  against  my 


1789.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  103 

absences.  The  discovery  made  me  not  only  silent,  but 
comfortless.  I  cannot  endure  to  retaliate ;  I  am  bent 
against  making  any  serious  charge  to  discredit  an  old  ser- 
vant, who,  with  all  her  faults,  has  an  attachment  for  her 
mistress  that  merits  her  protection.  And  this,  too,  is  the 
last  time  to  take  for  either  attack  or  defence.  It  would  be 
distressing  ;  it  would  be  unfeeling.  I  know  myself  now 
peculiarly  useful :  many  things  pass  that  I  am  bound  not 
to  write  ;  and  it  might  seem  taking  a  mean  advantage  of 
the  present  circumstances  to  offer  any  defensive  appeal 
just  now. 

Sunday,  18th.  —  The  public  birthday  of  my  poor  Royal 
mistress.  How  sadly  did  she  pass  it;  and  how  was  I 
filled  with  sorrow  for  her  reflections  upon  this  its  first  an- 
niversary for  these  last  twenty-eight  years  in  which  the 
King  and  the  nation  have  not  united  in  its  celebration ! 
All  now  was  passed  over  in  silence  and  obscurity ;  all  ob- 
servance of  the  day  was  prohibited,  both  abroad  and  at 
home. 

The  poor  King,  whose  attention  to  times  and  dates  is 
unremittingly  exact,  knew  the  day,  and  insisted  upon  see- 
ing the  Queen  and  three  of  the  Princesses  ;  but  —  it  was 
not  a  good  day. 

Kew,  Monday,  19th.  —  This  morning  the  news  was 
very  cheering,  and  I  have  begun  now  a  great  friendship 
with  Dr.  Willis  and  Dr.  John.  They  are  most  delightful 
people ;  all  originality,  openness,  and  goodness. 

When  I  saw,  afterwards,  Sir  Lucas  Pepys,  he  told  me  he 
plainly  saw  I  was  on  the  verge  of  an  illness  myself,  and 
recommended  air  and  exercise  as  essentially  requisite  to 
save  me  from  this  menace.  I  obeyed  his  injunctions  the 
moment  I  could  name  them  to  the  Queen,  for  my  health  is 
now  amongst  my  first  duties,  as  far  as  it  may  depend  upon 
my  own  care. 


104  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

I  took,  therefore,  a  safe  opportunity,  and  strolled  a  little 
while  in  Eichmond  Gardens. 

Sunday,  25th. —  The  two  last  days  were  wholly  eventless; 
but  this  morning  I  had  so  fair  an  account  of  our  beloved 
monarch,  that  I  drew  up  a  bulletin  myself ;  not,  indeed, 
for  St.  James's,  but  where  it  was  certain  of  a  flourishing 
reception.  Mr.  Smelt  was  going  to  town,  and  could  not 
call.  He  sent  me  a  note  of  inquiry,  which  arrived  while  I 
was  still  listening  to  Dr.  John  Willis,  in  our  late  little  parlor, 
and  hearing  every  interesting  particular  of  the  night  and 
early  morning.     I  answered  Mr.  Smelt's  note,  thus  :  — 

"Kew  Palace,  Sunday  morning,  January  25,  1789. 

"  His  Majesty  has  passed  a  very  good  night,  and  is  per- 
fectly composed  and  collected  this  morning. 

"  (Signed)  John  Willis. 

"  (Witnessed)  Frances  Burney." 

The  young  doctor  gave  me  his  name  very  willingly  ;  and 
with  this  bulletin  Mr.  Smelt  went  and  gladdened  the  hearts 
of  every  good  subject  of  his  acquaintance  in  town. 

These  Willises  are  most  incomparable  people.  They 
take  a  pleasure,  that  brightens  every  particle  of  their  coun- 
tenances, in  communicating  what  is  good,  and  they  soften 
all  that  is  bad  with  the  most  sedulous  kindness. 

In  running  this  morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  along  my  dark 
passage,  I  nearly  fell  over  a  pail,  carelessly  left  in  the  way 
by  a  housemaid,  and  broke  my  shin  very  painfully.  Unable, 
therefore,  to  walk,  yet  so  strongly  enjoined  to  take  the  air, 
I  could  not  escape  accompanying  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  in  a 
little  tour  round  Brentford,  which,  that  we  might  see  a 
little  of  the  world,  was  the  postillion's  drive.  But  the  ill 
humor  of  my  companion  during  this  rural  ride  was  of  so 
affronting  a  cast,  that  I  wished  myself  a  thousand  times 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  105 

hopping  with  my  broken  shin  over  the  worst  ploughed 
land  in  England,  rather  than  so  to  be  seated  in  a  royal 
vehicle. 

I  have  not  mentioned  a  singular  present  which  has  been 
sent  me  from  Germany  this  month  :  it  is  an  almanac,  in 
German,  containing  for  its  recreative  part  an  abridgment  of 
"  Cecilia,"  in  that  language ;  and  every  month  opens  with 
a  cut  from  some  part  of  her  history.  It  is  sent  me  by  M. 
Henouvre,  a  gentleman  in  some  office  in  the  King's  estab- 
lishment at  Hanover.  I  wish  I  could  read  it  —  but  I  have 
only  written  it ! 

Monday,  26th.  — In  the  evening  Mr.  Fairly  came  to  tea. 
He  was  grave,  and  my  reception  did  not  make  him  gayer. 
General  discourse  took  place,  till  Mrs.  Dickenson  hap- 
pened to  be  named.  He  knew  her  very  well  as  Miss 
Hamilton.  Her  conjugal  conduct,  in  displaying  her  supe- 
rior power  over  her  husband,  was  our  particular  theme,  till 
in  the  midst  of  it  he  exclaimed,  "  How  well  you  will  be 
trained  in  by  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  —  if  you  come  to  trial ! " 

Ah  !  thought  I,  the  more  I  suffer  through  her,  the  less 
and  less  do  I  feel  disposed  to  run  any  new  or  more  lasting 
risk.  But  I  said  not  this ;  I  only  protested  I  was  much 
less  her  humble  servant  than  might  be  supposed. 

"  How  can  that  be,"  cried  he,  "  when  you  never  contest 
any  one  point  with  her  ? "  Not,  I  said,  in  positive  wran- 
gling, which  could  never  answer  its  horrible  pain  ;  but  still 
I  refused  undue  obedience,  when  exacted  with  indignity, 
and  always  hastened  to  retire  when  offended  and  affronted. 

He  took  up  Mrs.  Smith's  "  Emmeline,"  which  is  just  lent 
me  by  the  Queen  ;  but  he  found  it  not  ^Ji^wa;?/,  and  putting 
it  down,  begged  me  to  choose  him  a  Eambler.  I  had  a 
good  deal  of  difficulty  in  my  decision,  as  he  had  already 
seen  almost  all  I  could  particularly  wish  to  recommend ; 


106  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

and  when  he  saw  me  turn  over  leaf  after  leaf  with  some 
hesitation,  he  began  a  serious  reproach  to  me  of  inflexible 
reserve.     And  then  away  he  went. 

I  hastened  immediately  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and 
found  all  in  a  tumult.  She  had  been,  she  said,  alone  all 
the  evening,  and  was  going  to  have  sent  for  me,  but  found 
I  had  my  company.  She  sent  for  Mile.  Montmoulin  —  but 
she  had  a  cold  ;  for  Miss  Gomme,  but  she  could  not  come 
because  of  the  snow ;  for  Miss  Planta  —  but  she  was  ill 
with  a  fever,  "  what  you  call  headache:"  she  had  then 
"  sent  to  Princess  Eoyal,  who  had  been  to  her,  and  pitied 
her  ver  moch,  for  Princess  Eoyal  was  really  sensible." 

And  all  this  was  communicated  with  a  look  of  accusa- 
tion, and  a  tone  of  menace,  that  might  have  suited  an 
attack  upon  some  hardened  felon.  And  this  complaint  of 
the  absence  of  two  hours  to  one  treated  when  present  as  if 
too  highly  honored  in  being  suffered  in  the  same  apart- 
ment !  I  never  yet  found  this  more  hard  to  bear  —  to  be 
denied  the  common  forms  of  common  civility  when  1 
stayed,  yet  to  have  the  whole  house  apprised  of  my  retreat, 
as  an  act  of  barbarity  ! 

I  made  no  sort  of  apology ;  nor  any  other  answer  than 
that  I  had  had  the  honor  of  Mr.  Fairly's  company  to  tea, 
which  was  always  a  pleasure  to  me.  I  believe  something 
like  consciousness  whispered  her  here,  that  it  might  really 
be  possible  his  society  was  as  pleasant  as  I  had  found  hers, 
for  she  then  dropped  her  lamentation,  and  said  she  thanked 
God  she  wanted  nobody,  not  one ;  she  could  always  amuse 
herself,  and  was  glad  enough  to  be  alone.    Were  it  but  true  ! 

I  offered  cards  ;  she  refused,  because  it  was  too  late, 
though  we  yet  remained  together  near  two  hours. 

If  this  a  little  disordered  me,  you  will  not  think  what 
followed  was  matter  of  composure.  While  the  Queen's 
hair  was  rolling  up,  by  the  wardrobe-woman,  at  night,  Mrs. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  107 

Schwellenberg  happened  to  leave  the  room,  and  almost 
instantly  her  Majesty,  in  a  rather  abrupt  manner,  said,  "  Is 
Mr.  Fairly  here  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  When  did  he  come  back  ?  "     I  could  not  recollect. 

"  I  did  not  know  he  was  here." 

This  thunderstruck  me ;  that  he  should  come  again,  or 
stay,  at  least,  without  apprising  his  Eoyal  mistress,  startled 
me  inwardly,  and  distressed  me  outwardly. 

"  I  knew,  indeed,"  she  then  added,  "  he  was  here  in  the 
morning,  but  I  understood  he  went  away  afterwards."  The 
idea  of  connivance  now  struck  me  with  a  real  disdain,  that 
brought  back  my  courage  and  recollection  in  full  force,  and 
I  answered,  "  I  remember,  ma'am,  he  told  me  he  had  rode 
over  to  Richmond  Park  at  noon,  and  returned  here  to  din- 
ner with  Colonel  Welbred,  and  in  the  evening,  he  drank 
tea  with  me,  and  said  he  should  sup  with  General  Har- 
court."  All  this,  spoken  with  an  openness  that  rather  in- 
vited than  shunned  further  investigation,  seemed  to  give 
an  immediate  satisfaction ;  the  tone  of  voice  changed  to 
its  usual  complacency,  and  she  inquired  various  things 
concerning  the  Stuart  family,  and  then  spoke  upon  more 
common  topics. 

I  concluded  it  now  all  over ;  but  soon  after  Mrs.  Sandys 
went  away,  and  then,  very  unexpectedly,  the  Queen  re- 
newed the  subject.  "  The  reason,"  she  said,  "  that  I  asked 
about  Mr.  Fairly  was  that  the  Schwellenberg  sent  to  ask 
Miss  Planta  to  come  to  her,  because  Mr.  Fairly  was  —  no, 
not  with  her  —  he  never  goes  to  her."  She  stopped  ;  but 
I  was  wholly  silent.  I  felt  instantly  with  how  little  pro- 
priety I  could  undertake  either  to  defend  or  to  excuse  Mr. 
Fairly,  whom  I  determined  to  consider  as  a  visitor,  over 
whom,  having  no  particular  influence,  I  could  be  charged 
with  no  particular  responsibility.      After  waiting  a  few 


108  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

minutes  —  "With  you,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Fairly  was;  and 
the  Schwellenberg  was  alone." 

My  spirits  quite  panted  at  this  moment  to  make  a  full 
confession  of  the  usage  I  had  endured  from  the  person 
thus  compassionated ;  but  I  had  so  frequently  resolved,  in 
moments  of  cool  deliberation,  not  even  to  risk  doing  mis- 
chief to  a  favorite  old  servant,  however  personally  provoked, 
that  I  withstood  the  impulse ;  but  the  inward  conflict 
silenced  me  from  saying  anything  else.  I  believe  she  was 
surprised  ;  but  she  added,  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  believe  — 
he  comes  to  you  every  evening  when  here  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  ma'am,  always,  when  he  is  here  or 
away ;  but  I  am  always  very  glad  to  see  him,  for  indeed 

his  visits  make  all  the  little  variety  that "     I  hastily 

stopped,  lest  she  should  think  me  discontented  with  this 
strict  confinement  during  this  dreadful  season  ;  and  that  I 
can  never  be,  when  it  is  not  accompanied  by  tyranny  and 
injustice.  She  immediately  took  up  the  word,  but  without 
the  slightest  displeasure.  "  Why  here  there  might  be  more 
variety  than  anywhere,  from  the  nearness  to  town,  except 
for " 

"  The  present  situation  of  things,"  I  eagerly  interrupted 
her  to  say,  and  went  on  :  —  "  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  have  scarce 
a  wish  to  break  into  the  present  arrangement,  by  seeing 
anybody  while  the  house  is  in  this  state ;  nor  ha^e  I, 
from  last  October,  seen  one  human  being  that  does  not 
live  here,  except  Mr.  Smelt,  Mr.  Fairly,  and  Sir  Lucas 
Pepys ;  and  they  all  come  upon  their  own  calls,  and  not 
for  me." 

"  The  only  objection,"  she  gently  answered,  "  to  seeing 
anybody,  is  that  every  one  who  comes  carries  some  sort  of 
information  away  with  them." 

I  assured  her  I  was  perfectly  content  to  wait  for  better 
times.     Here  the  matter  dropped;  she  appeared  satisfied 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  109 

with  what  I  said,  and  became  soft  and  serene  as  before  the 
little  attack. 

Tuesday,  27th.  —  Tlie  intelligence  this  morning  was  not 
very  pleasant.  I  had  a  conference  afterwards  with  Sir 
Lucas  Pepys,  who  keeps  vip  undiminished  hope.  We  held 
our  council  in  the  physicians'  room,  which  chanced  to  be 
empty;  but  before  it  broke  up  Colonel  Welbred  entered. 
It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  him,  though  somewhat  an 
embarrassment  to  hear  him  immediately  lament  that  we 
never  met,  and  add  that  he  knew  not  in  what  manner  to 
procure  himself  that  pleasure. 

I  joined  in  the  lamentation,  and  its  cause,  which  con- 
fined us  all  to  our  cells.  Sir  Lucas  declared  my  confine- 
ment menaced  my  health,  and  charged  me  to  walk  out,  and 
take  air  and  exercise  very  sedulously,  if  I  would  avoid  an 
illness. 

Colonel  Welbred  instantly  offered  me  a  key  of  Eichmond 
Gardens,  which  opened  into  them  by  a  nearer  door  than 
what  was  used  in  common. 

I  accepted  his  kindness,  and  took  an  hour's  walk  —  for 
the  first  time  since  last  October ;  ten  minutes  in  Kew  Gar- 
dens are  all  I  have  spent  without  doors  since  the  middle 
of  that  month. 

Kew  Lodge,  Wednesday,  28th.  —  The  excellent  Dr. 
Willis  gave  me  a  most  reviving  account  of  our  beloved 
King  this  morning,  and  with  a  glee  so  genuine,  that  I 
think  even  the  opposition  must  have  sympathized  in  it. 
Afterwards  the  same  pleasant  tidings  were  confirmed  by  his 
son.  Dr.  John,  who  is  a  truly  amiable  and  lively  character, 
with  admirable  good  sense  and  no  pretensions.  Mr.  Smelt, 
all  delight,  came  to  me  at  noon,  with  the  debates  of  the 
Commons  on  the  Eegency. 

Thursday,  29th.  —  Still  good  news  from  the  two  good 
doctors.     All  else  bad  —  Cerbera  dreadful !  —  more  rough 


110  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

and  harsh  than  I  have  words  to  tell.  She  has  done,  pal- 
pably, what  was  possible  to  secure  a  censure  from  the 
Magnolia;  but  the  Magnolia  cannot  enjoin  an  injustice  — 
though  she  may  wish  me  more  subservient.  But  I  will 
not  enter  upon  these  matters  here. 

Friday,  30th.  —  To-day  my  poor  Royal  mistress  re- 
ceived the  address  of  the  Lords  and  Commons,  of  con- 
dolence, &c.,  upon  his  Majesty's  illness.  What  a  painful, 
but  necessary  ceremony  !  It  was  most  properly  presented 
by  but  few  members,  and  those  almost  all  chosen  from  the 
household :  a  great  propriety. 

Not  long  after  came  Mr.  Fairly,  looking  harassed.  "  May 
I,"  he  cried,  "  come  in  ?  —  and  —  for  an  hour  ?  Can  you 
allow  me  entrance  and  room  for  that  time  ?  "  Much  sur- 
prised, for  already  it  was  three  o'clock,  I  assented  :  he  then 
told  me  he  had  something  to  copy  for  her  Majesty,  which 
was  of  the  highest  importance,  and  said  he  could  find  no 
quiet  room  in  the  house  but  mine  for  such  a  business.  I 
gave  him  every  accommodation  in  my  power.  When  he 
had  written  a  few  lines,  he  asked  if  I  was  very  busy,  or 
could  help  him  ?  Most  readily  I  offered  my  services  :  and 
then  I  read  to  him  the  original,  sentence  by  sentence,  to 
facilitate  his  copying;  receiving  his  assurances  of  my 
"  great  assistance  "  every  two  lines. 

In  the  midst  of  this  occupation,  a  tap  at  my  door  made 
me  precipitately  put  down  the  paper  to  receive — Lady 
Charlotte  Finch  !  "  Can  you,"  she  cried,  "  have  the  good- 
ness to  tell  me  anything  of  Mr.  Fairly  ? "  The  screen  had 
hidden  him  ;  but,  gently,  —  though  I  believe  ill  enough 
pleased,  —  he  called  out  himself,  "  Here  is  Mr.  Fairly." 

She  flew  up  to  him,  crying,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Fairly,  what  a 
search  has  there  been  for  you,  by  the  Queen's  orders ! 
She  has  wanted  you  extremely,  and  no  one  knew  where  to 
find  you.     They  have  been  to  the  waiting-room,  to  the 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  Ill 

equerries',  all  over  the  garden,  to  the  Prince's  house,  in 
your  own  room,  and  could  find  you  nowhere,  and  at  last 
they  thought  you  were  gone  back  to  town."  He  calmly 
answered,  while  he  still  wrote  on,  he  was  sorry  they  had 
had  so  much  trouble,  for  he  had  only  been  executing  her 
Majesty's  commands. 

She  then  hesitated  a  little,  almost  to  stammering,  in 
adding,  "So — at  last — I  said — that  perhaps  — you  might 
be  here  ! "  He  now  raised  his  head  from  the  paper,  and 
bowing  it  towards  me,  "Yes,"  he  cried,  "Miss  Burney  is  so 
good  as  to  give  me  leave,  and  there  is  no  other  room  in  the 
house  in  which  I  can  be  at  rest." 

"  So  I  told  her  Majesty,"  answered  Lady  Charlotte, 
"  though  she  said  she  was  sure  you  could  not  be  here ;  but 
I  said  there  was  really  no  room  of  quiet  here  for  any  busi- 
ness, and  so  then  I  came  to  see." 

"  Miss  Burney,"  he  rejoined,  "  has  the  goodness  also  to 
help  me  —  she  has  taken  the  trouble  to  read  as  I  go  on, 
which  forwards  me  very  much."  Lady  Charlotte  stared, 
and  I  felt  sorry  at  this  confession  of  a  confidence  she  could 
not  but  think  too  much,  and  I  believe  he  half  repented  it, 
for  he  added,  "  This,  however,  you  need  not  perhaps  mention, 
though  I  know  where  I  trust ! "  He  proceeded  again  with 
his  writing,  and  she  then  recollected  her  errand.  She  told 
him  that  what  he  was  copying  was  to  be  carried  to  town 
by  Lord  Aylesbury,  but  that  the  Queen  desired  to  see  it 
first.     She  then  returned  to  her  Majesty. 

She  soon,  however,  returned  again.  She  brought  tlie 
Queen's  seal,  and  leave  that  he  might  make  up  the  packet, 
and  give  it  to  Lord  Aylesbury,  without  showing  it  first  to 
her  Majesty,  who  was  just  gone  to  dinner. 

With  her  customary  good-humor  and  good-breeding, 
she  then  chatted  with  me  some  time,  and  again  departed. 
We  then  went  to  work  with  all  our  might,  reading  and 


112  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

copying.  The  original  was  extremely  curious  —  I  am 
sorry  I  must  make  it  equally  secret. 

Kew  Palace,  Monday,  February  2nd.  —  What  an  ad- 
venture had  I  this  morning !  one  that  has  occasioned  me 
the  severest  personal  terror  I  ever  experienced  in  my  life. 

Sir  Lucas  Pepys  still  persisting  that  exercise  and  air 
were  absolutely  necessary  to  save  me  from  illness,  1  have 
continued  my  walks,  varying  my  gardens  from  Eichmond 
to  Kew,  according  to  the  accounts  I  received  of  the  move- 
ments of  the  King.  For  this  I  had  her  Majesty's  permis- 
sion, on  the  representation  of  Sir  Lucas. 

This  morning,  when  I  received  my  intelligence  of  the 
King  from  Dr.  John  Willis,  1  begged  to  know  where  I 
might  walk  in  safety  ?  "  In  Kew  Gardens,"  he  said,  "  as 
the  King  would  be  in  Eichmond." 

"  Should  any  unfortunate  circumstance,"  I  cried,  "  at  any 
time,  occasion  my  being  seen  by  his  Majesty,  do  not  men- 
tion my  name,  but  let  me  run  off  without  call  or  notice." 
This  he  promised.  Everybody,  indeed,  is  ordered  to  keep 
out  of  sight. 

Taking,  therefore,  the  time  I  had  most  at  command,  I 
strolled  into  the  gardens.  I  had  proceeded,  in  my  quick 
way,  nearly  half  the  round,  when  I  suddenly  perceived, 
through  some  trees,  two  or  three  figures.  Eelying  on  the 
instructions  of  Dr.  John,  I  concluded  them  to  be  workmen 
and  gardeners ;  yet  tried  to  look  sharp,  and  in  so  doing,  as 
they  were  less  shaded,  I  thought  I  saw  the  person  of  his 
Majesty !  Alarmed  past  all  possible  expression,  I  waited 
not  to  know  more,  but  turning  back,  ran  off  with  all  my 
might.  But  what  was  my  terror  to  hear  myself  pursued  ! 
—  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  King  himself  loudly  and 
hoarsely  calling  after  me,  "  Miss  Burney !  Miss  Burney  ! " 

I  protest  I  was  ready  to  die.  I  knew  not  in  what  state 
he  might  be  at  the  time ;  I  only  knew  the  orders  to  keep 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  113 

out  of  his  way  were  universal ;  that  the  Queen  would 
highly  disapprove  any  unauthorized  meeting,  and  that  the 
very  action  of  my  running  away  might  deeply,  in  his 
present  irritable  state,  offend  him.  Nevertheless,  on  I  ran, 
too  terrified  to  stop,  and  in  search  of  some  short  passage, 
for  the  garden  is  full  of  little  labyrinths,  by  which  I  might 
escape.  The  steps  still  pursued  me,  and  still  the  poor 
hoarse  and  altered  voice  rang  in  my  ears  :  —  more  and 
more  footsteps  resounded  frightfully  behind  me,  —  the 
attendants  all  running,  to  catch  their  eager  master,  and 
the  voices  of  the  two  Doctor  Willises  loudly  exhorting  him 
not  to  heat  himself  so  unmercifully. 

Heavens,  how  I  ran !  I  do  not  think  I  should  have  felt 
the  hot  lava  from  Vesuvius — at  least  not  the  hot  cinders 
—  had  I  so  run  during  its  eruption.  My  feet  were  not 
sensible  that  they  even  touched  the  ground. 

Soon  after,  I  heard  other  voices,  shriller,  though  less 
nervous,  call  out  "  Stop  !  stop  !  stop  ! "  I  could  by  no 
means  consent :  I  knew  not  what  was  purposed,  but  I 
recollected  fully  my  agreement  with  Dr.  John  that  very 
morning,  that  I  should  decamp  if  surprised,  and  not  be 
named. 

My  own  fears  and  repugnance,  also,  after  a  flight  and  dis- 
obedience like  tliis,  were  doubled  in  the  thought  of  not 
escaping :  I  knew  not  to  what  I  might  be  exposed,  should 
the  malady  be  then  high,  and  take  the  turn  of  resentment. 
Still,  therefore,  on  I  flew ;  and  such  was  my  speed,  so 
almost  incredible  to  relate  or  recollect,  that  I  fairly  believe 
no  one  of  the  .whole  party  could  have  overtaken  me,  if 
these  words,  from  one  of  the  attendants,  had  not  reached 
me,  "  Doctor  Willis  begs  you  to  stop  !  " 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  "  I  answered,  still  flying  on,  when 
he  called  out,  "  You  must,  ma'am ;  it  hurts  the  King  to 
run."     Tlien,  indeed,  I  stopped  —  in  a  state  of  fear  really 

VOL.   II.  8 


114  DIARY   AND   LETTEES  [1789. 

amounting  to  agony.  I  turned  round.  I  saw  the  two 
Doctors  had  got  the  King  between  them,  and  three  attend- 
ants of  Dr.  Willis's  were  hovering  about.  They  all  slack- 
ened their  pace,  as  they  saw  me  stand  still ;  but  such  was 
the  excess  of  my  alarm,  that  I  was  wholly  insensible  to 
the  effects  of  a  race  which,  at  any  other  time,  would  have 
required  an  hour's  recruit.  As  they  approached,  some 
little  presence  of  mind  happily  came  to  my  command  :  it 
occurred  to  me  that,  to  appease  the  wrath  of  my  flight,  I 
must  now  show  some  confidence :  I  therefore  faced  them 
as  undauntedly  as  I  was  able,  only  charging  the  nearest  of 
the  attendants  to  stand  by  my  side. 

When  they  were  within  a  few  yards  of  me,  the  King 
called  out,  "  Why  did  you  run  away  ? "  Shocked  at  a 
question  impossible  to  answer,  yet  a  little  assured  by  the 
mild  tone  of  his  voice,  I  instantly  forced  myself  forward, 
to  meet  him,  though  the  internal  sensation,  which  satisfied 
me  this  was  a  step  the  most  proper  to  appease  his  sus- 
picious and  displeasure,  was  so  violently  combated  by  the 
tremor  of  my  nerves,  that  I  fairly  think  I  may  reckon  it 
the  greatest  effort  of  personal  courage  I  have  ever  made. 
The  effort  answered  :  I  looked  up,  and  met  all  his  wonted 
benignity  of  countenance,  though  something  still  of  wild- 
ness  in  his  eyes.  Think,  however,  of  my  surprise,  to  feel 
him  put  both  his  hands  round  my  two  shoulders,  and  then 
kiss  my  cheek  ! 
r\  I  wonder  I  did  not  really  sink,  so  exquisite  was  my  af- 

fright when  I  saw  him  spread  out  his  arms  i  Involunta- 
rily, I  concluded  he  meant  to  crush  me :  but  the  Willises, 
who  have  never  seen  him  till  this  fatal  illness,  not  know- 
ing how  very  extraordinary  an  action  this  was  from  him, 
simply  smiled  and  looked  pleased,  supposing,  perhaps,  it 
was  his  customary  salutation  !  I  believe,  however,  it  was 
but  the  joy  of  a  heart  unbridled,  now,  by  the  forms  and 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  115 

proprieties  of  established  custom  and  sober  reason.  To  see 
any  of  his  household  thus  by  accident,  seemed  such  a  near 
approach  to  liberty  and  recovery,  that  who  can  wonder  it 
should  serve  rather  to  elate  than  lessen  what  yet  remains 
of  his  disorder  ! 

He  now  spoke  in  such  terms  of  his  pleasure  in  seeing 
me,  that  I  soon  lost  the  whole  of  my  terror ;  astonishment 
to  find  him  so  nearly  well,  and  gratification  to  see  him  so 
pleased,  removed  every  uneasy  feeling,  and  the  joy  that 
succeeded,  in  my  conviction  of  his  recovery,  made  me 
ready  to  throw  myself  at  his  feet  to  express  it. 

What  a  conversation  followed  !  When  he  saw  me  fear- 
less, he  grew  more  and  more  alive,  and  made  me  walk  close 
by  his  side,  away  from  the  attendants,  and  even  the  Wil- 
lises themselves,  who,  to  indulge  him,  retreated.  I  own 
myself  not  completely  composed,  but  alarm  I  could  enter- 
tain no  more.  Everything  that  came  uppermost  in  his 
mind  he  mentioned  ;  he  seemed  to  have  just  such  remains 
of  his  flightiness  as  heated  his  imagination  without  de- 
ranoinsf  his  reason,  and  robbed  him  of  all  control  over  his 
speech,  though  nearly  in  his  perfect  state  of  mind  as 
to  his  opinions.  What  did  he  not  say  !  —  He  opened  his 
whole  heart  to  me,  —  expounded  all  his  sentiments,  and 
acquainted  me  with  all  his  intentions. 

The  heads  of  his  discourse  I  must  give  you  briefly,  as  I 
am  sure  you  will  be  highly  curious  to  hear  them,  and  as 
no  accident  can  render  of  much  consequence  what  a  man 
says  in  such  a  state  of  physical  intoxication. 

He  assured  me  he  was  quite  well — as  well  as  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life;  and  then  inquired  how  I  did,  and 
how  I  went  on  ?  and  whether  I  was  more  comfortable  ? 
If  these  questions,  in  their  implication,  surprised  me,  im- 
agine how  that  surprise  must  increase  when  he  proceeded 
to  explain  them  !     He  asked  after  the  coadjutrix,  laughing, 


116  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

and  saying,  "  Never  mind  her  !  —  don't  be  oppressed  —  I 
am*  your  friend !  don't  let  her  cast  you  down  !  —  I  know 
you  have  a  hard  time  of  it  —  but  don't  mind  her  ! " 

Almost  thunderstruck  with  astonishment,  I  merely  curt- 
seyed to  his  kind  "  I  am  your  friend, "  and  said  nothing. 
Then  presently  he  added,  "  Stick  to  your  father  —  stick  to 
your  own  family  —  let  them  be  your  objects.  "  How  readily 
I  assented ! 

Again  he  repeated  all  I  have  just  written,  nearly  in  the 
same  words,  but  ended  it  more  seriously :  he  suddenly 
stopped,  and  held  me  to  stop  too,  and  putting  his  hand  on 
his  breast,  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  he  gravely  and 
slowly  said,  "  I  will  protect  you  !  —  I  promise  you  that  — 
and  therefore  depend  upon  me ! "  I  thanked  him  ;  and 
the  Willises,  thinking  him  rather  too  elevated,  came  to 
propose  my  walking  on.  "  No,  no,  no  ! "  he  cried,  a  hundred 
times  in  a  breath;  and  their  good  humor  prevailed,  and 
they  let  him  again  walk  on  with  his  new  companion. 

He  then  gave  me  a  history  of  his  pages,  animating  almost 
into  a  rage,  as  he  related  his  subjects  of  displeasure  with 
them,  particularly  with  Mr.  Ernst,  who,  he  told  me,  had 
been  brought  up  by  himself.  I  hope  his  ideas  upon  these 
men  are  the  result  of  the  mistakes  of  his  malady.  Then 
he  asked  me  some  questions  that  very  greatly  distressed 
me,  relating  to  information  given  him  in  his  illness,  from 
various  motives,  but  which  he  suspected  to  be  false,  and 
which  I  knew  he  had  reason  to  suspect :  yet  was  it  most 
dangerous  to  set  anything  right,  as  I  was  not  aware  what 
miffht  be  the  views  of  their  having  been  stated  wrong.  I 
•was  as  discreet  as  I  knew  how.to  be,  and  I  hope  I  did  no 
mischief ;  but  this  was  the  worst  part  of  the  dialogue. 

He  next  talked  to  me  a  great  deal  of  my  dear  father,  and 
made  a  thousand  inquiries  concerning  his  "  History  of 
Music.  "     This  brought  him  to  his  favorite  theme,  Handel ; 


1789.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  117 

and  he  told  me  innumerable  anecdotes  of  him,  and  partic- 
ularly that  celebrated  tale  of  Handel's  saying  of  himself, 
when  a  boy,  "  While  that  boy  lives,  my  music  will  never 
want  a  protector. "  And  this,  he  said,  I  might  relate  to 
my  father.  Then  he  ran  over  most  of  his  oratorios,  attempt- 
ing to  sing  the  subjects  of  several  airs  and  choruses,  but 
so  dreadfully  hoarse  that  the  sound  was  terrible.  Dr. 
Willis,  quite  alarmed  at  this  exertion,  feared  he  would  do 
himself  harm,  and  again  proposed  a  separation.  "  No !  no  ! 
no ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  not  yet ;  I  have  something  I  must 
just  mention  first. "  Dr.  Willis,  delighted  to  comply,  even 
when  uneasy  at  compliance,  again  gave  way. 

The  good  King  then  greatly  affected  me.  He  began 
upon  my  revered  old  friend,  Mrs.  Delany  ;  and  he  spoke 
of  her  with  such  warmth  —  such  kindness  !  "  She  was  my 
friend  ! "  he  cried,  "  and  I  loved  her  as  a  friend  !  I  have 
made  a  memorandum  when  I  lost  her  —  I  will  show  it 
you. "  He  pulled  out  a  pocket-book,  and  rummaged  some 
time,  but  to  no  purpose.  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  — 
he  wiped  them,  and  Dr.  Willis  again  became  very  anx- 
ious. "  Come,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  now  do  you  come  in  and 
let  the  lady  go  on  her  walk,  —  come,  now,  you  have 
talked  a  long  while,  —  so  we'll  go  in  —  if  your  Majesty 
pleases." 

"  No,  no  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  want  to  ask  her  a  few  questions ; 
—  I  have  lived  so  long  out  of  the  world,  I  know  nothing  ! " 
This  touched  me  to  the  heart.  We  walked  on  together, 
and  he  inquired  after  various  persons,  particularly  Mrs. 
Boscawen,  because  she  was  Mrs.  Delany's  friend !  Then, 
for  the  same  reason,  after  Mr.  Frederick  Montagu,  of  whom 
he  kindly  said,  "  I  know  he  has  a  great  regard  for  me,  for 
all  he  joined  the  opposition. "  Lord  Grey  de  Wilton,  Sir 
Watkin  Wynn,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  and  various  others, 
followed.     He  then  told  me  he  was  very  much  dissatisfied 


118  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1789, 

with  several  of  his  state  officers,  and  meant  to  form  an 
entire  new  establishment.  He  took  a  paper  out  of  his 
pocket-book,  and  showed  me  his  new  list.  This  was  the 
wildest  thing  that  passed ;  and  Dr.  John  Willis  now  se- 
riously urged  our  separating ;  but  he  would  not  consent ; 
he  had  only  three  more  words  to  say,  he  declared,  and 
again  he  conquered.  He  now  spoke  of  my  father,  witli 
still  more  kindness,  and  told  me  he  ought  to  have  had  the 
post  of  Master  of  the  Band,  and  not  that  little  poor  musician 
Parsons,  who  was  not  fit  for  it :  "  But  Lord  Salisbury, "  he 
cried,  "  used  your  father  very  ill  in  that  business,  and  so 
he  did  me !  However,  I  have  dashed  out  his  name,  and 
I  shall  put  your  father's  in,  —  as  soon  as  I  get  loose  again !  " 
This  again  —  how  affecting  was  this  ! 

"  And  what,"  cried  he,  "  has  your  father  got,  at  last  ? 
nothing  but  that  poor  thing  at  Chelsea  ?  0  fie  !  fie  !  lie  ! 
But  never  mind  !  I  will  take  care  of  him !  I  will  do  it 
mj'^self ! "  Then  presently  he  added,  "  As  to  Lord  Salis- 
bury, he  is  out  already,  as  this  memorandum  will  show  you, 
and  so  are  many  more.  I  shall  be  much  better  served  ;  and 
when  once  I  get  away,  I  shall  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron  ! " 
This  was  very  unlike  himself,  and  startled  the  two  good 
doctors,  who  could  not  bear  to  cross  him,  and  were  exult- 
ing at  my  seeing  his  great  amendment,  but  yet  grew  quite 
uneasy  at  his  earnestness  and  volubility.  Finding  we  now 
must  part,  he  stopped  to  take  leave,  and  renewed  again  his 
charges  about  the  coadjutrix.  "Never  mind  her!"  he 
cried,  "  depend  upon  me  !  I  will  be  your  friend  as  long  as 
I  live  !  —  I  here  pledge  myself  to  be  your  friend  ! "  And 
then  he  saluted  me  again  just  as  at  the  meeting,  and  suf- 
fered me  to  go  on. 

What  a  scene  !  how  variously  was  I  affected  by  it !  but, 
upon  the  whole,  how  inexpressibly  thankful  to  see  him  so 
nearly  himself  —  so  little  removed  from  recovery ! 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  119 

I  went  very  soon  after  to  the  Queen,  to  whom  I  was 
most  eager  to  avow  the  meeting,  and  how  little  I  could 
help  it.  Her  astonishment,  and  her  earnestness  to  hear 
every  particular,  were  very  great.  I  told  her  almost  all. 
Some  few  things  relating  to  the  distressing  questions  I 
could  not  repeat ;  nor  many  things  said  of  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  which  would  much,  and  very  needlessly,  have  hurt 
her. 

This  interview,  and  the  circumstances  belonging  to  it, 
excited  general  curiosity,  and  all  the  house  watched  for 
opportunities  to  beg  a  relation  of  it.  How  delighted  was 
I  to  tell  them  all  my  happy  prognostics ! 

But  the  first  to  hasten  to  liear  of  it  was  Mr.  Smelt ; 
eager  and  enchanted  was  the  countenance  and  attention  of 
that  truly  loyal  and  most  affectionate  adherent  to  his  old 
master.  Yet  he  saw  me  so  extremely  shaken  by  the  vari- 
ous exertions  of  the  morning,  that  I  could  with  difficulty 
persuade  him  they  would  not  make  me  ill :  never,  I  assured 
him,  where  the  result  was  well,  did  any  agitation  essen- 
tially hurt  me.  He  wished  me  to  see  Lady  Harcoui't  and 
the  General,  and  to  make  them  a  brief  relation  of  this 
extraordinary  rencounter :  but  for  that  I  had  not  effort 
enough  left. 

I  did  what  I  could,  however,  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of 
Colonel  Welbred,  which  I  never  saw  equally  excited.  I 
was  passing  him  on  the  stairs,  and  he  followed  me,  to  say 
he  had  heard  what  had  happened  —  I  imagine  from  the 
Willises.  I  told  him,  with  the  highest  satisfaction,  the 
general  effect  produced  upon  my  mind  by  the  accident, 
that  the  King  seemed  so  nearly  himself,  that  patience  itself 
could  have  but  little  longer  trial. 

He  wanted  to  hear  more  particulars  :  I  fancy  the  Willises 
had  vaguely  related  some  :  "  Did  he  not,"  he  cried,  "  promise 
to  —  do  something  for  you  ?  —  take  care  of  you  ?  "     I  only 


120  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

laughed,  and  answered,  "  Oh  yes  !  if  you  want  anything, 
apply  to  me  ;  —  naw  is  my  time  ! " 

Tuesday,  3rd.  —  I  had  the  great  happiness  to  be  assured 
this  morning,  by  both  the  Doctor  Willises,  that  his  Majesty 
was  by  no  means  the  worse  for  our  long  conference.  Those 
good  men  are  inexpressibly  happy  themselves  in  the  de- 
lightful conviction  given  me,  and  by  me  spread  about,  of 
the  near  recovery  of  their  royal  patient. 

Friday,  6th.  —  These  last  three  days  have  been  spent 
very  unpleasantly  indeed  :  all  goes  hardly  and  difficultly 
with  my  poor  Eoyal  mistress. 

Yet  his  Majesty  is  now,  thank  Heaven,  so  much  better, 
that  he  generally  sees  his  gentlemen  in  some  part  of  the 
evening  ;  and  Mr.  Fairly,  having  no  particular  taste  for 
being  kept  in  waiting  whole  hours  for  this  satisfaction  of  a 
few  minutes,  yet  finding  himself,  if  in  the  house,  indis- 
pensably required  to  attend  with  the  rest,  has  changed  his 
Kew  visits  from  nights  to  mornings. 

He  brought  me  the  "  Eegency  Bill ! "  —  I  shuddered  to 
hear  it  named.  It  was  just  printed,  and  he  read  it  to  me, 
with  comments  and  explanations,  which  took  up  all  our 
time,  and  in  a  manner,  at  present,  the  most  deeply  inter- 
esting in  which  it  could  be  occupied.  'T  is  indeed  a  dread 
event !  —  and  how  it  may  terminate  who  can  say  ?  My 
poor  Eoyal  mistress  is  much  disturbed.  Her  daughters 
behave  like  angels  ;  they  seem  content  to  reside  in  this 
gloomy  solitude  for  ever,  if  it  prove  of  comfort  to  their 
mother,  or  mark  their  duteous  affection  for  their  father. 

Tuesday,  10th.  —  The  amendment  of  the  King  is  pro- 
gressive, and  without  any  reasonable  fear,  though  not  with- 
out some  few  drawbacks.  The  Willis  family  were  surely 
sent  by  Heaven  to  restore  peace,  and  health,  and  pros- 
perity to  this  miserable  house  ! 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  ■  121 

Lady  Charlotte  Finch  called  upon  me  two  days  ago, 
almost  purposely,  to  inquire  concerning  the  report  of  my 
young  friend's  marriage  ;  and  she  made  me  promise  to 
acquaint  her  when  I  received  any  further  news  :  at  noon, 
therefore,  I  went  to  her  apartment  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's, 
with  this  information.  Mr.  Fairly,  I  knew,  was  with  the 
equerries  in  our  lodge.  Lady  Charlotte  had'  the  Duchess 
of  Beaufort  and  all  the  Fieldings  with  her,  and  therefore  I 
only  left  a  message,  by  no  means  feeling  spirits  for  en- 
countering any  stranger. 

At  noon,  when  I  attended  her  Majesty,  she  inquired  if  I 
had  walked  ?  —  Yes.  —  Where  ?  —  In  Eichmond  Gardens. 
—  And  nowhere  else  ?  —  No.  She  looked  thoughtful  — 
and  presently  I  recollected  my  intended  visit  to  Lady 
Charlotte,  and  mentioned  it.  She  cleared  up,  and  said, 
"  Oh  !  —  you  went  to  Lady  Charlotte  ? "  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  I 
answered,  thinking  her  very  absent  —  which  I  thought 
with  sorrow,  as  that  is  so  small  a  part  of  her  character, 
that  I  know  not  I  ever  saw  any  symptom  of  it  before. 
Nor,  in  fact,  as  I  found  afterwards,  did  I  see  it  now.  It 
was  soon  explained.  Miss  Gomme,  Madlle.  Montmoulin, 
and  Miss  Planta,  all  dined  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
to-day.  The  moment  I  joined  them,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
called  out,  —  "  Pray,  Miss  Berner,  for  what  visit  you  the 
gentlemen  ? " 

"  Me  ? " 

"  Yes,  you  —  and  for  what,  I  say  ! "  Amazed,  I  declared 
I  did  not  know  what  she  meant.  "  Oh  !  "  cried  she  scoff- 
ingly,  "that  won't  not  do  —  we  all  saw  you — Princess 
Eoyal  the  same  !  —  so  don't  not  say  that !  "  I  stared  —  and 
Miss  Gomme  burst  out  in  laughter,  and  then  Mrs.  Schwell- 
enberg added  — "  For  what  go  you  over  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales  his  house  ?  —  nobody  lives  there  but  the  gentle- 
men —  nobody  others." 


122  '  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

I  laughed  too,  now,  and  told  her  the  fact.  "  Oh/'  cried 
she,  "  Lady  Charlotte !  —  ver  true.  I  had  forgot  Lady 
Charlotte ! " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  ma'am,"  cried  I  —  "so  only  the  gentle- 
men were  remembered  ! " 

I  then  found  this  had  been  related  to  the  Queen ;  and 
Madlle.  Montmoulin  said  she  supposed  the  visit  had  been  to 
General  Gordon  !  —  He  is  the  groom  now  in  waiting.  "  In 
good  time  ! "  —  as  Mrs.  Piozzi  says  ;  —  I  know  not  even  his 
face !  But  I  laughed,  without  further  affirmation.  Miss 
Gomme  told  me  she  had  not  been  so  much  diverted  since 
the  poor  King's  illness  as  by  hearing  this  attack  upon  my 
character. 

Then  followed  an  open  raillery  from  Madlle.  Montmoulin 
of  Mr.  Fairly's  visits ;  but  I  stood  it  very  well,  assuring 
her  I  should  never  seek  to  get  rid  of  my  two  prison-visitors, 
Mr.  Smelt  and  Mr.  Fairly,  till  I  could  replace  them  by 
better,  or  go  abroad  for  others  ! 

Friday,  1.3th.  —  This  morning  there  was  a  great  alarm 
in  the  house  by  the  appearance  of  two  madmen.  I  heard  it 
from  Columb.  Mr.  Smelt  was  so  engaged  in  consultation 
about  them,  that  he  did  not  even  come  upstairs ;  and  I 
remained  in  the  most  anxious  uncertainty  till  noon,  when 
my  ever  ready  and  kind  informant,  Mr.  Fairly,  found  his 
way  to  me. 

"  I  am  come,"  he  cried,  "  only  for  a  moment,  to  acquaint 
you  with  the  state  of  things  below."  He  then  repeated 
all  tlie  particulars :  but  as  the  adventure  was  local,  I  shall 
not  write  more  of  it  than  that  one  of  these  men,  after  a 
long  examination  by  all  the  gentlemen,  was  dismissed,  and 
the  other  sent  to  the  office  of  Lord  Sydney,  Secretary  of 
State.  Nothing  so  strange  as  the  eternal  rage  of  these 
unhappy  lunatics  to  pursue  the  Royal  Family  ! 

He  then  gave  me  the  particulars  of  the  progress  of  the 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  123 

Regency  Bill,  which  direful  topic  lasted  while  he  stayed. 
Oh,  how  dreadful  will  be  the  day  when  that  unhappy  bill 
takes  place  !  I  cannot  approve  the  plan  of  it ;  —  the  King 
is  too  well  to  make  such  a  step  right.  It  will  break  his 
spirits,  if  not  his  heart,  when  he  hears  and  understands 
such  a  deposition. 

Saturday,  14th.  —  The  King  is  infinitely  better.  Oh 
that  there  were  patience  in  the  land !  and  this  Regency 
Bill  postponed ! 

Two  of  the  Princesses  regularly,  and  in  turn,  attend 
their  Royal  mother  in  her  evening  visits  to  the  King. 
Some  of  those  who  stay  behind,  now  and  then  spend  the 
time  in  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  room.  They  all  long  for 
their  turn  of  going  to  the  King,  and  count  the  hours  till 
it  returns.  Their  dutiful  affection  is  truly  beautiful  to 
behold. 

This  evening  the  Princesses  Elizabeth  and  Mary  came 
into  Mrs.  Schw"ellenberg's  room  while  I  was  yet  there. 
They  sang  songs  in  two  parts  all  the  evening,  and  very 
prettily  in  point  of  voice.  Their  good  humor,  however, 
and  inherent  condescension  and  sweetness  of  manners, 
would  make  a  much  worse  performance  pleasing. 

February  16th.  —  All  well,  and  the  King  is  preparing 
for  an  interview  with  the  Chancellor !  Dr.  Willis  now 
confides  in  me  all  his  schemes  and  notions ;  we  are  grow- 
ing the  best  of  friends ;  and  his  son.  Dr.  John,  is  nearly 
as  trusty.  Excellent  people  !  how  I  love  and  honor  them 
all! 

When  I  came  to  tea,  I  found  Mr.  Fairly  waiting  in  my 
room.  He  had  left  Kew  for  Richmond  Park,  but  only 
dined  there.  We  had  much  discussion  of  state  business. 
The  King  is  so  much  himself,  that  he  is  soon  to  be  in- 
formed of  the  general  situation  of  the  kingdom.     Oh,  what 


124  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

an  information  1  —  how  we  all  tremble  in  looking  forward 
to  it !  Mr.  Fairly  thinks  Mr.  Smelt  the  fittest  man  for 
this  office :  Mr.  Smelt  thinks  the  same  of  Mr.  Fairly :  both 
have  told  me  this. 

Then  again  Mr.  Locke  came  into  play.  I  told  him  I 
believed  him  a  man  without  blemish. 

He  repeated  my  words  with  emphatic  surprise.  "  At 
least,"  I  cried,  "  there  is  no  fault  in  him  I  have  ever  seen, 
—  nor  yet  that,  amongst  his  acquaintance,  I  have  ever 
heard  mentioned." 

"  What  a  character !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  and  again,  forget- 
ting the  long  delay  he  had  proposed  in  the  morning,  he 
declared  he  must  know  him.  He  asked  me  various  par- 
ticulars of  his  way  of  life ;  I  sketched  it  all  out  with  that 
delight  which  such  a  subject  communicates  to  all  my  ideas, 
and  he  is  now  perfectly  well  informed  of  the  whole  system 
of  Norbury  Park. 

He  began  soon  to  look  at  his  watch,  complaining  very 
much  of  the  new  ceremony  imposed,  of  this  attendance  of 
handing  the  Queen,  which,  he  said,  broke  into  his  whole 
evening.  Yet  he  does  as  little  as  possible.  "  The  rest  of 
them,"  he  said,  "  tliink  it  necessary  to  wait  in  an  adjoining 
apartment  during  the  whole  interview,  to  be  ready  to  show 
themselves  when  it  is  over." 

He  now  sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  dreading  to  pass 
his  time,  but  determined  not  to  anticipate  its  occupation, 
till  half  past  nine  o'clock,  when  he  drew  on  his  white 
gloves,  ready  for  action.  But  then,  stopping  short,  he  de- 
sired me  to  guess  whom,  amongst  my  acquaintance,  he  had 
met  in  London  this  last  time  of  his  going  thither.  I  could 
not  guess  wdiom  he  meant —  but  I  saw  it  was  no  common 
person,  by  his  manner.  He  then  continued  —  "A  tall, 
thin,  meagre,  sallow,  black-eyed,  penetrating,  keen-looking 
figure." 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  125 

I  could  still  not  guess,  —  and  he  named  Mr.  Wyndham. 

"  Mr.  "Wyndham  ! "  I  exclaimed,  "  no,  indeed,  —  you  do 
not  describe  him  fairly,  —  he  merits  better  coloring." 

He  accuses  me  of  being  very  partial  to  him :  however, 
I  am  angry  enough  with  him  just  now,  though  firmly  per- 
suaded still,  that  whatever  has  fallen  from  him,  that  is 
wrong  and  unfeeling,  on  the  subject  of  the  Eegency,  has 
been  the  effect  of  his  enthusiastic  friendship  for  Mr.  Burke  : 
for  he  has  never  risen,  on  this  cruel  business,  but  in  sup- 
port of  that  most  misguided  of  vehement  and  wild  orators. 
This  I  have  observed  in  the  debates,  and  felt  that  Mr. 
Burke  was  not  more  run  away  with  by  violence  of  temper 
and  passion,  than  Mr.  AVyndham  by  excess  of  friendship 
and  admiration. 

Mr.  Fairly  has,  I  fancy,  been  very  intimate  with  him, 
for  he  told  me  he  observed  he  was  passing  him  in  Queen 
Anne  Street,  and  stopped  his  horse,  to  call  out,  "  Oh  ho, 
Wyndham  !  so  I  see  you  will  not  know  me  with  this  ser- 
vant ! "  He  was  on  business  of  the  Queen's,  and  had  one 
of  the  royal  grooms  with  him. 

Mr.  Wyndham  laughed,  and  said  he  was  very  glad  to  see 
who  it  was,  for,  on  looking  at  the  royal  servant,  he  had 
just  been  going  to  make  his  lowest  bow.  "  Oh,  I  thank 
you ! "  returned  Mr.  Fairly,  "  you  took  me,  then,  for  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland." 

We  talked  about  him  a  good  while ;  my  high  admiration 
of  his  talents,  his  style  of  conversation,  and  the  mingled 
animation  and  delicacy  of  his  manners,  I  enlarged  upon 
without  scruple ;  adding,  that  I  should  not  feel  it  so 
strongly,  but  from  a  fixed  belief,  founded  on  reason  and 
information,  that  his  internal  character  was  amongst  the 
noblest  ever  formed. 

February  17th.  —  The  times  are  now  most  interesting 
and  critical.     Dr.  Willis  confided  to  me  this  morning  that 


126  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

to-day  the  King  is  to  see  the  Chancellor.  How  important 
will  be  the  result  of  his  appearance  !  —  the  whole  national 
fate  depends  upon  it ! 

Mr.  Smelt  has  had  his  first  interview  also  ;  —  it  was  all 
smooth  ;  but,  to  himself,  deeply  affecting. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  say  I  am  satisfied  a  certain  Cerbera 
has  lamented  my  tea-elopements  to  the  Princess  Eoyal. 
There  is  an  evident  change,  and  coldness  of  a  high  sort,  in 
that  lately  so  condescending  Princess.  I  am  quite  grieved 
at  this.  But  I  will  not  pay  a  mean  court,  for  which  I 
should  despise  myself,  in  order  to  conciliate  a  person  whom 
I  have  never  justly  offended,  but  by  running  away  from 
her  when  affronted  myself.  I  will  rather  risk  every  conse- 
quence.    Time,  I  think,  must  stand  my  friend. 

Wednesday,  18th.  —  I  had  this  morning  the  highest 
gratification,  the  purest  feeling  of  delight,  I  have  been  re- 
galed with  for  many  months :  I  saw,  from  the  road,  the 
King  and  Queen,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Willis,  walking  in 
Richmond  Gardens,  near  the  farm,  arm  in  arm  !  —  It  was  a 
pleasure  that  quite  melted  me,  after  a  separation  so  bitter, 
scenes  so  distressful  —  to  witness  such  harmony  and  secu- 
rity !  Heaven  bless  and  preserve  them  !  was  all  I  could 
incessantly  say  while  I  kept  in  their  sight. 

I  was  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  at  the 
time.  They  saw  us  also,  as  I  heard  afterwards  from  the 
Queen. 

Thursday,  19th. —  This  is  my  dear  young  friend's  ^  bridal 
day  !     I  have  written  to  her.     Heaven  send  her  hapj^y ! 

Dr.  Willis  this  morning  lent  me  a  crambo  song,  on  his 
own  name,  which  he  has  received  by  the  penny  post. 
I  shall  copy  and  show  it  you.  It  is  sportive  enough,  and 
loyal. 

This  was  a  sweet,  and  will  prove  a  most  memorable  day : 

^  Mrs.  Delany's  niece,  Miss  Port. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  127 

the  Regency  was  put  off,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  by  a  motion 
from  the  Lord  Chancellor ! 

Huzza  !  huzza ! 

And  this  evening,  for  the  first  time,  the  King  came  up- 
stairs to  drink  tea  with  the  Queen  and  Princesses  in  the 
drawing-room !  My  heart  was  so  full  of  joy  and  thank- 
fulness, I  could  hardly  breathe  !  Heaven  —  Heaven  be 
praised ! 

AVhat  a  different  house  is  this  house  become  !  —  sadness 
and  terror,  that  wholly  occupied  it  so  lately,  are  now  flown 
away,  or  rather  are  now  driven  out ;  and  though  anxiety 
still  forcibly  prevails,  't  is  in  so  small  a  proportion  to  joy 
and  thankfulness,  that  it  is  borne  as  if  scarce  an  ill ! 

Monday,  23rd.  —  This  morning  opened  wofully  to  me, 
though  gaily  to  the  house  ;  for  as  my  news  of  his  Majesty 
was  perfectly  comfortable,  I  ventured,  in  direct  words,  to 
ask  leave  to  receive  my  dear  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke, 
who  were  now  in  town :  —  in  understood  sentences,  and 
open  looks,  I  had  already  failed  again  and  again. 

My  answer  was  —  "I  have  no  particular  objection,  only 
you  11  keep  them  to  your  room."  Heavens  !  —  did  they 
ever,  unsummoned,  quit  it  ?  or  have  they  any  wish  to  en- 
large their  range  of  visit  ?  I  was  silent,  and  then  heard  a 
history  of  some  imprudence  in  Lady  Effingham,  who  had 
received  some  of  her  friends. 

My  resolution,  upon  this,  I  need  not  mention :  I  pre- 
ferred the  most  lengthened  absence  to  such  a  permission. 
But  I  felt  it  acutely  !  and  I  hoped,  at  least,  that,  by  taking 
no  steps,  something  more  favorable  might  soon  pass. 

The  King  I  have  seen  again  —  in  the  Queen's  dressing- 
room.  On  opening  the  door,  there  he  stood !  He  smiled 
at  my  start,  and  saying  he  had  waited  on  purpose  to  see 
me,  added,  "  I  am  quite  well  now,  —  I  was  nearly  so  when 


128  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

I  saw  you  before  —  but  I  could  overtake  you  better  now  ! " 
And  then  he  left  the  room.     I  was  quite  melted  with  joy 
and  thankfulness  at  this  so  entire  restoration. 
End  of  February,  1789.     Dieu  merci  ! 

Kew  Palace. 

Sunday,  March  1st. — What  a  pleasure  was  mine  this 
morning  !  how  solemn,  but  how  grateful !  The  Queen  gave 
me  the  "  Prayer  of  Thanksgiving "  upon  the  King's  re- 
covery. It  was  this  morning  read  in  all  the  churches 
throughout  the  metropolis,  and  by  this  day  week  it  will 
reach  every  church  in  the  kingdom.  It  kept  me  in  tears 
all  the  morning,  —  that  such  a  moment  should  actually 
arrive  !  after  fears  so  dreadful,  scenes  so  terrible. 

The  Queen  gave  me  a  dozen,  to  distribute  among  the 
female  servants ;  but  I  reserved  one  of  them  for  dear  Mr. 
Smelt,  who  took  it  from  me  in  speechless  ecstasy  —  his 
fine  and  feeling  eyes  swimming  in  tears  of  joy. 

There  is  no  describing — and  I  will  not  attempt  it — the 
fulness,  the  almost  overwhelming  fulness  of  this  morning's 
thankful  feelings ! 

I  had  the  great  gratification  to  see  the  honored  object  of 
this  joy,  for  a  few  minutes,  in  the  Queen's  dressing-room. 
He  was  all  calmness  and  benevolent  graciousness.  I  fan- 
cied my  strong  emotion  had  disfigured  me ;  or  perhaps  the 
whole  of  this  long  confinement  and  most  affecting  winter 
may  have  somewhat  marked  my  countenance  ;  for  the  King 
presently  said  to  me, 

"  Pray,  are  you  quite  well  to-day  ?  " 

"I  think  not  quite,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  She  does  not  look  well,"  said  he  to  the  Queen  ;  "  she 
looks  a  little — ydloio  I  think."  How  kind  to  think  of  any 
body  and  their  looks,  at  this  first  moment  of  reappear- 
aince ! 


1789,]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  129 

I  hear  Major  Price  is  arrived,  on  a  visit,  to  see  his  re- 
stored old  master;  with  what  true  joy  will  he  see  that 
sight !  Mr.  Smelt  told  me,  also,  there  ivould  he  no  more  pri- 
vate parties,  as  the  King  now  sent  for  all  the  gentlemen  to 
join  the  Eoyal  set  at  the  card-table  every  evening.  I  have 
much  reason  to  be  glad  of  this  at  present. 

On  my  return  I  found  a  letter  from  my  dear  M , 

written  on  the  day  of  her  marriage  ;  which  was  performed 
at  Bath,  whence  she  set  out  for  her  father's  house.  Her 
letter  is  dated  on  the  road. 

Wednesday,  March  4th.  —  A  message  from  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  this  morning,  to  ask  me  to  air  with  her, 
received  my  most  reluctant  acquiescence ;  for  the  frost  is 
so  severe  that  any  air  without  exercise,  is  terrible  to  me ; 
though,  were  her  atmosphere  milder,  the  rigor  of  the  season 
I  might  not  regard. 

When  we  came  to  the  passage,  the  carriage  was  not 
ready.  She  murmured  most  vehemently ;  and  so  bitterly 
cold  was  I,  I  could  heartily  have  joined,  had  it  answered 
any  purpose. 

While  thus  bad  was  making  worse,  a  party  of  gentlemen 
in  uniform  passed ;  and  presently  Mr.  Fairly,  looking 
towards  us,  exclaimed,  "  Is  that — yes,  it  is  Miss  Burney:  I 
must  just  ask  her  how  she  does!  —  "and,  quitting  the 
group,  he  came  to  me  with  a  thousand  kind  inquiries. 
He  was  then  entering  still  further  into  conversation ;  but 
I  drew  back,  alarmed,  lest,  not  having  noticed  my  com- 
panion, he  should  unknowingly  incense  her  by  this  dis- 
tinction. Still,  however,  he  went  on,  till  I  looked  full 
round  at  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who  was  standing,  loftily 
silent,  only  a  few  steps  above  me.  He  then  addressed  her ; 
whether  he  had  not  seen  or  had  not  cared  about  her  before, 
I  know  not.  She  instantly  began  a  proud  accusation  of 
her  servants,  protesting  she  had  never  met  such  a  thing 


130  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

before  as  to  wait  for  such  people ;  but  made  no  answer  to 
his  tardy  salutation. 

Just  as  well  content,  he  heard  her  without  reply,  and, 
returning  to  me,  renewed  his  attempt  at  conversation. 
More  loftily  than  ever,  she  then  drew  up,  and  uttered 
aloud  the  most  imperious  reproaches,  on  the  unexampled 
behavior  of  her  people  who  were  never  while  they  lived 
again  to  have  power  to  make  her  wait  "  not  one  moment." 
Frightened  at  this  rising  storm,  I  endeavored  to  turn 
towards  her,  and  engage  her  to  join  in  other  discourse ; 
but  Mr.  Fairly  did  not  second  my  motion,  and  /  obtained 
no  other  notice  than,  "  Oh,  ver  well !  when  they  will  serve 
me  so,  they  might  see  what  will  become !  —  no  !  it  is  not 
permit !  —  "  &c. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Colonel  Goldsworthy  appeared ;  he 
came  forward,  with  Hov:)dost — but  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
called  him  to  her,  with  unusual  civility,  and  many  kind 
inquiries  about  his  sister. 

In  this  cold  passage  we  waited  in  this  miserable  manner 
a  full  quarter  of  an  hour ;  all  the  time  scolding  the  ser- 
vants, threatening  them  with  exile,  sending  message  after 
message,  repining,  thwarting,  and  contentious.  Now  we 
were  to  go  and  wait  in  the  King's  rooms  —  now  in  the 
gentlemen's  —  now  in  Dr.  WiUis's  —  her  own,  —  and  this, 
in  the  end,  took  place. 

In  our  way  we  again  encountered  Mr.  Fairly.  He  asked 
where  we  were  going.  "  To  my  own  parlor ! "  slie  an- 
swered. He  accompanied  us  in ;  and,  to  cheer  the  gloom, 
seized  some  of- the  stores  of  Dr.  Willis, —  sandwiches,  wine 
and  water,  and  other  refreshments,  and  brouglit  them  to 
us,  one  after  another,  in  a  sportive  manner,  recommending 
to  us  to  break  through  common  rules,  on  such  an  occasion, 
and  eat  and  drink  to  warm  ourselves. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  131 

She  stood  in  stately  silence,  and  bolt  upright,  scarce 
deigning  to  speak  even  a  refusal ;  till,  upon  his  saying, 
while  he  held  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand,  "  Come,  ma'am, 
do  something  eccentric  for  once  —  it  will  warm  you  !  —  " 
she  angrily  answered,  "You  been  reely  —  what  you  call  — 
too  much  hospital !  "  Neither  of  us  could  help  laughing, 
—  "  Yes,"  cried  he,  "  with  the  goods  of  others ;  that  makes 
a  wide  difterence  in  hospitality  ! " 

Then  he  rattled  away  upon  the  honors  the  room  had 
lately  received,  of  having  had  Mr.  Pitt,  the  Chancellor, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  &c.,  to  wait  in  it.  This  she  re- 
sented highly,  as  seeming  to  think  it  more  honored  in  her 
absence  than  presence. 

At  length  we  took  our  miserable  airing,  in  which  I  was 
treated  with  as  much  fierce  harshness  as  if  I  was  convey- 
ing to  some  place  of  confinement  for  the  punishment  of 
some  dreadful  offence !  She  would  have  the  glass  down  on 
my  side ;  the  piercing  wind  cut  my  face ;  I  put  my  muff 
up  to  it :  this  incensed  her  so  much,  that  she  vehemently 
declared  "  she  never,  no  never,  would  trohble  any  vjon  to  air 
with  her  again,  but  go  always  selfs,"  —  And  who  will  re- 
pine at  that  ?  thought  I.  Yet  by  night  I  had  caught  a 
violent  cold,  which  flew  to  my  face,  and  occasioned  me 
dreadful  pain. 

Tuesday,  March  10th.  —  I  have  been  in  too  nmch  pain 
to  write  these  last  five  days :  and  I  became  very  feverish, 
and  universally  ill,  affected  with  the  fury  of  the  cold. 

My  Eoyal  mistress,  who  could  not  but  observe  me  very 
unwell,  though  I  have  never  omitted  my  daily  three  at- 
tendances, which  I  have  performed  with  difficulty  all  but 
insurmountable,  concluded  I  had  been  guilty  of  some 
imprudence  :  I  told  the  simple  fact  of  the  glass  —  but 
quite-  simply,  and  without  one  circumstance.  She  instantly 
said  she  was  surprised  I  could  catch  cold  in  an  airing,  as 


132  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

it  never  appeared  that  it  disagreed  with  me  when  I  took 
it  with  Mrs.  Delany. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  I  immediately  answered,  "  nor  with  Mrs. 
Locke ;  nor  formerly  with  Mrs.  Thrale  :  —  but  they  left  me 
the  regulation  of  the  glass  on  my  own  side  to  myself ;  or, 
if  they  interfered,  it  was  to  draw  it  up  for  me."  This  I 
could  not  resist.  I  can  be  silent ;  but  when  challenged  to 
speak  at  all,  it  must  be  plain  truth.  I  had  no  answer. 
Illness  here  —  till  of  late  —  has  been  so  unknown,  that  it 
is  commonly  supposed  it  must  be  wilful,  and  therefore 
meets  little  notice,  till  accompanied  by  danger,  or  inca- 
pacity of  duty.  This  is  by  no  means  from  hardness  of 
heart  —  far  otherwise ;  there  is  no  hardness  of  heart  in 
any  one  of  them ;  but  it  is  prejudice  and  want  of  personal 
experience.^ 

Tuesday,  March  10th.  —  This  was  a  day  of  happiness 
indeed !  —  a  day  of  such  heartfelt  public  delight  as  could 
not  but  suppress  all  private  disturbance.  The  King  sent 
to  open  the  House  of  Lords  by  Commission.  The  general 
illumination  of  all  London  proved  the  universal  joy  of  a 
thankful  and  most  affectionate  people,  who  have  shown  so 
largely,  on  this  trying  occasion,  how  Avell  they  merited  the 
monarch  thus  benignantly  preserved. 

The  Queen,  from  her  privy  purse,  gave  private  orders  for 
a  splendid  illumination  at  this  palace ;  Eebecca  painted  a 
beautiful  transparency ;  and  Mr.  Smelt  had  the  regulation 

1  "  Weak,  feverish,  hardly  able  to  stand,  Frances  had  still  to  rise  be- 
fore seven  in  order  to  dress  the  'sweet  Queen,'  and  to  sit  np  till  midnight 
in  order  to  undress  the  sweet  Queen.  The  indisi^osition  of  the  handmaid 
could  not,  and  did  not,  escape  the  notice  of  her  royal  mistress.  But  the 
established  doctrine  of  the  Court  was,  that  all  sickness  was  to  be  consid- 
ered as  a  pretence  until  it  proved  fatal.  The  only  way  in  which  the  in- 
valid was  to  clear  herself  from  the  suspicion  of  'malingering,'  as  it  is 
called  in  the  army,  was  to  go  on  lacing  and  unlacing  till  she  fell  dowa 
dead  at  the  royal  feet."  —  Lord  Macanlay,  Essay  on  Madame  d'Arhlay. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  ^  133 

of  the  whole.  The  King  —  Providence — Health  —  and 
Britannia,  were  displayed  with  elegant  devices :  the  Queen 
and  Princesses,  all  but  the  youngest,  went  to  town  to  see 
the  illumination  there ;  and  Mr.  Smelt  was  to  conduct  the 
surprise.  —  It  was  magnificently  beautiful.  When  it  was 
lighted  and  prepared,  the  Princess  Amelia  went  to  lead 
her  Papa  to  the  front  window ;  but  first  she  dropped  on 
her  knees,  and  presented  him  a  paper  with  these  lines  — 
which,  at  the  Queen's  desire,  I  had  scribbled  in  her  name, 
for  the  happy  occasion  :  — 

To  THE  Kpng. 

Amid  a  rapturous  Nation's  praise 

That  sees  thee  to  their  prayers  restored, 
Turn  gently  from  the  general  blaze,  — 

Thy  Charlotte  woos  her  bosom's  lord. 

Turn  and  behold  where,  bright  and  clear, 

Depictured  with  transparent  art, 
The  eTnblems  of  her  thoughts  appear. 

The  tribute  of  a giateful  heart. 

0  !  small  the  tribute,  were  it  weighed 

With  all  she  feels  —  or  half  she  owes  ! 
But  noble  minds  are  best  repaid 

From  the  pure  spring  whence  bounty  flows. 

P.  S.    The  little  bearer  begs  a  kiss 

From  dear  Papa,  for  bringing  this. 

I  need  not,  I  think,  tell  you,  the  little  bearer  begged  not 
in  vain.  The  King  was  extremely  pleased.  He  came  into 
a  room  belonging  to  the  Princesses,  in  which  we  had  a 
party  to  look  at  the  illuminations,  and  there  he  stayed 
above  an  hour ;  cheerful,  composed,  and  gracious !  all  that 
could  merit  the  great  national  testimony  to  his  worth  this 
day  paid  him. 

Lady  Efiingham,  Major  Price,  Dr.  Willis,  and  Mr.  and 


134    .  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Mrs.  Smelt,  made  the  party ;  with  the  sweet  little  Princess 
till  her  bed-time,  Miss  Gomme,  &c. 

The  Queen  and  Princesses  did  not  return  from  town 
till  one  in  the  morning.  They  were  quite  enchanted  with 
the  glorious  scene  they  had  been  beholding. 

Wednesday,  March  11th.  —  This  morning  our  beloved 
Sovereign,  reinstated  in  all  his  dignities,  received  the  Ad- 
dress of  the  Lords  and  Commons,  in  person,  upon  his  re- 
covery. The  Queen,  too,  saw  some  of  the  foreign  ministers, 
on  the  same  joyful  occasion.  All  was  serene  gaiety  and 
pleasure ! 

At  night  the  Princess  Elizabeth  came  to  call  me  to  the 
Queen.  Her  Majesty  was  in  the  drawing-room,  with  the 
King,  Princesses,  Lady  Pembroke,  Mr.  Smelt,  and  Dr.  Wil- 
lis. She  immediately  communicated  to  me  her  gracious 
permission  that  I  should  spend  the  next  day  in  town,  sleep 
at  my  father's,  and  return  on  Friday  evening.  On  Satur- 
day we  are  all  to  take  leave  of  Kew. 

Thursday,  March  12th.  —  I  set  out  as  early  as  I  was 
able,  in  a  post-chaise,  with  Columb  on  horseback.  On  the 
road  we  overtook  the  King,  with  Mr.  Fairly,  Colonels  Man- 
ners, Grwynn,  and  Goldsworthy,  and  Major  Price. 

I  stopped  the  chaise ;  but  the  King  rode  up  to  it,  and 
asked  me  how  long  I  should  stay  in  town,  and  how  long  it 
was  since  I  had  seen  my  father  ?  When  I  answered  live 
months,  "  Oh  poor  soul ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  then  let  me 
go  on. 

How  did  I  rejoice  to  see  my  dearest  father ! 

Friday  evening  I  returned  to  Kew. 

Queen's  Lodge,  "Windsor. 
Saturday,  March  14th.  —  This  morning  we  returned 
to  Windsor,  with  what  different  sensations  from  those  %vith 
which  we  left  it !     All  illness  over,  all  fears  removed,  all 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  135 

sorrows  lightened !  The  King  was  so  well  as  to  go  on 
horseback,  attended  by  a  large  party  of  gentlemen. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  went  to  town  to  spend  some  days ; 
Miss  Planta  only  accompanied  me :  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt, 
on  invitation  by  the  King,  came  also  to  Windsor  for  a 
week.  The  Queen  was  all  graciousness :  everything  and 
everybody  were  smiling  and  lively. 

All  Windsor  came  out  to  meet  the  King.  It  was  a  joy 
amounting  to  ecstasy ;  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  dry  all 
day  long.  A  scene  so  reversed !  sadness  so  sweetly  ex- 
changed for  thankfulness  and  delight !  I  had  a  charming 
party  to  dinner ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt  and  the  Bishop  of 
Worcester  joining  Mr.  de  Luc  and  Miss  Planta.  Recovery 
was  all  the  talk ;  there  could  be  no  other  theme. 

The  town  of  Windsor  had  subscribed  forty  guineas  for 
fireworks,  to  celebrate  the  return  of  the  King ;  the  Royal 
Family  were  to  see  them  from  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  bed- 
room, which  looked  directly  upon  them ;  and  Mr.  Smelt 
begged  to  see  them  from  mine,  which  is  immediately  under 
that  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

Sunday,  March  15th.  —  The  King  this  morning  renewed 
his  public  service  at  church,  by  taking  the  Sacrament  at 
eight  o'clock.  All  his  gentlemen  attended  him.  The 
Queen,  Princesses,  and  household  went  at  the  usual  time. 
Bishop  Hurd  preached  an  excellent  sermon,  with  one 
allusion  to  the  King's  recovery,  delicately  touched  and 
quickly  passed  over. 


Miss  Burnei/  to  Mrs. . 

March  6,  1789. 

I    thought  with   greatly  added  satisfaction,    from 

what  the  last  letter  contains,  of  Mr. 's  religious  prin- 
ciples.    There,  indeed,  you  have  given  a  basis  to  my  hopes 


136  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

of  your  happiness,  that  no  other  consideration  could  have 
given  me.  To  have  him  good  is  very  important  to  me  :  to 
have  you  impressed  with  his  goodness,  I  had  almost  said, 
is  yet  more  so. 

Only  guard  yourself,  all  you  can,  from  ruminating,  too 
deeply,  and  from  indulging  every  rising  emotion,  whether 
of  loain  or  pleasure.  You  are  all  made  up  with  propen- 
sities to  both  ;  I  see  it  with  concern,  yet  with  added  ten- 
derness :  see  it  also  yourself,  and  it  can  do  no  evil.  We 
are  all  more  in  our  own  power  than  we  think,  till  we  try, 
or  are  tried.  To  calm  your  too  agitated  mind  must  be 
uppermost  in  your  thoughts  :  —  pray  for  strength  to  do  it, 
and  you  will  not  be  denied  it :  —  but  pray,  I  beg  you  :  — 
it  will  not  come  without  prayer,  and  prayer  will  impress 
you  with  the  duty  of  exertion. 


Miss  Burney  to  the  same. 

Queen's  Lodge,  Windsor,  March  17,  1789. 
How  tranquillizing  a  letter,  my  sweet  friend,  have  you 
at  last  sent  me  !     I  read  it  with  the  highest  satisfaction, 
and  I  have  dwelt  upon  it  with  constant  pleasure  ever 

since.     What   you  tell   me   of  Mrs. 's  kindness   and 

attention  could  not  indeed  surprise  me,  but  my  best  grati- 
fication from  them  arises  in  your  grateful  acceptance. 
When  you  tell  me  you  have  not  known  so  much  comfort 
for  time  immemorial,  you  show  that  right  disposition  to 
be  happy  which  forms  one  of  the  principal  powers  for 
becoming  so.  I  do  indeed  flatter  myself  that  now,  since 
your  destiny  in  this  world  is  fixed,  your  mind  will  con- 
tinue in  the  same  serene  state  in  which  you  describe  it ; 
for  I  know  your  sense  of  duty  (may  I  say  so  to  a  married 
woman  ?),  and  I  know  the  excellent  resolutions  with  which 


1789. 


OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  137 


you  began  your  new  course  of  life ;  and  contentment  and 
cheerfulness  are  so  much  in  our  own  power,  though  high 
felicity  depends  upon  circumstances,  that  whoever  is  ear- 
nestly bent  on  making  the  happiness  of  others  their  first 
care  must  attain  them.  And  such,  1  know,  was  the  gen- 
erous intention  with  which  you  set  out ;  an  intention 
which,  well  supported,  never,  I  believe,  failed  of  preserv- 
ing the  most  grateful  affection  in  the  object  towards  whom 

it  is  directed.     And  you,  my  dear  M ,  I  well  know, 

have  a  thousand  powers  for  keeping  awake  at  the  same 
time  the  most  lively  admiration.  And  you  will  not  let 
them  languish  because  you  are  Tnarriecl ;  for  you  require 
affection  and  kindness  ;  they  are  necessary  to  your  peace  ; 
you  have  enjoyed  them  in  full  sway  all  the  best  and 
happiest  part  of  your  life,  and  you  could  do  nothing  to 
diminish  them  that  would  not  chiefly  end  in  punishing 
yourself  No,  no  ;  I  do  not  fear  this  from  you,  common  as 
is  the  fault.  Your  poor  mind  has  been  tutored,  —  torn 
rather,  —  in  the  school  of  early  adversity,  and  you  wiU  not 
yourself  roughen  the  harbor  that  brings  you  to  rest. 

We  have  lived  in  much  hurry  since  1  wrote  last,  though, 
thank  Heaven,  of  a  sort  the  most  pleasant.  The  recovery 
of  the  King  is  a  blessing  unspeakable  both  in  its  extent 
and  force.  He  little  before  knew  the  general  loyalty  and 
attachment  of  the  nation.  The  nation  knew  it  not,  indeed, 
itself. 

The  Bishop  of  Worcester  has  been  here  to  give  His 
Majesty  the  Sacrament,  and  inquired  much  about  you. 

Adieu,  my  dearest  M ;  I  entreat  to  hear  from  you 

as  soon  and  as  often  as  you  can.  I  know  how  much  you 
must  be  engaged  for  some  time  to  come,  and  short  letters 
shall  content  me  till  you  have  leisure  to  lengthen  them. 
But  tell  me  where  you  are  as  immediately  as  possible. 
Heaven  ever  bless  you  !  F.  B. 


138  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Wednesday,  March  18th.  —  To-day,  —  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly,  —  returned  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  Our  din- 
ner and  coffee  were  altered  sufficiently :  only  Miss  Planta 
attended  them  ;  and  all  returned  to  gloom  and  discontent. 

But  at  tea  she  declined  appearing,  not  having  time  to 
dress.  I  came  down  to  my  own  room,  about  seven  o'clock, 
to  get  a  little  breathing  time,  and  send  to  invite  Miss 
Egerton,  to  help  me  in  doing  the  honors  to  this  last 
evening  of  so  large  a  tribe :  I  well  knew  none  of  the 
household  ladies  would  venture  without  another  invitation. 

Queen's  Lodge,  Windsor. 

The  rest  of  this  month  I  shall  not  give  by  daily  dates, 
but  by  its  incidents. 

The  officers  of  the  Welsh  Fusileers  "presented  their 
compliments  "  to  me,  in  a  card,  to  invite  me  to  their  ball ; 
and  as  it  was  given  on  so  joyful  an  occasion,  and  General 
Grenville  was  the  commanding  officer,  I  received  her 
Majesty's  directions  to  go.  So  did  Miss  Planta  and  tlie 
ladies  of  the  Lower  Lodge. 

I  think  I  need  not  mention  meeting  my  beloved  Fredy 
in  town,  on  our  delightful  excursion  thither  for  the  Grand 
Eestoration  Drawing  Eoom,  in  which  the  Queen  received 
the  compliments  and  congratulations  of  almost  all  the 
court  part  of  the  nation.  Miss  Cambridge  worked  me, 
upon  this  occasion,  a  suit,  in  silks  upon  tiffany,  most  ex- 
cessively delicate  and  pretty,  and  much  admired  by  her 
Majesty. 

All  I  shall  mention  of  this  town  visit  is,  that,  the  day 
after  the  great  drawing-room,  Miss  Fuzilier,  for  the  first 
time  since  I  have  been  in  office,  called  upon  me  to  inquire 
after  the  Queen.  Miss  Tryon,  and  Mrs.  Tracey,  and  Mrs. 
Fielding,  were  with  her.  She  looked  serious,  sensible, 
interesting.     I  thought  instantly  of  the  report  concerning 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  139 

Mr.  Fairly,  and  of  his  disavowal :  but  it  was  singular  that 
the  only  time  she  opened  her  moutli  to  speak  was  to  name 
hiin  !  Miss  Tryon,  wlio  chatted  incessantly,  had  spoken 
of  the  great  confusion  at  the  drawing-room,  from  the 
crowd  :  "  It  was  intended  to  be  better  regulated,"  said  ]\Iiss 
r.,  "  Mr.  Fairly  told  me."  She  dropped  her  eye  the  mo- 
ment she  ]iad  spoken  his  name.  After  this,  as  before  it, 
she  said  nothing. 

On  our  return  to  AVindsor  we  soon  lost  more  of  our 
party.  The  excellent  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt  left  us  first.  I 
was  truly  sorry  to  part  with  them ;  and  Mr.  Smelt  held  a 
long  coniidential  conference  with  me  on  the  morning  he 
went :  he  told  me  Ids  plan  also  of  retiring,  to  finish  his 
life  in  the  bosom  of  his  children,  in  the  north.  When  I 
expressed  my  inevitable  concern,  though  unmixed  with  a 
sliadov/  of  remonstrance  against  a  scheme  so  natural,  right, 
and  happy,  he  spoke  to  me  in  warmer  terms  than  ever  be- 
fore dropped  from  him,  of  kind  personal  regard  ;  and  he 
finished  it  with  laughingly  exclaiming,  "  Your  whole  con- 
duct, in  this  trying  situation,  has  appeared  to  me  perfec- 
tion. There!  now  it's  all  out!  —  and  I  don't  know  how 
it  came  to  pass,  for  I  never  mentioned  to  you  before  how 
much  I  both  love  and  honor  you." 

This  would  not  lighten  the  projected  separation  ;  yet 
would  I  not,  for  the  universe,  even  retard  either  of  the 
retirements  now  planned  by  my  two  kind  and  most  valu- 
able supporters  during  the  confinement  I  have  endured. 


Miss  Burnet/  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Kew,  April,  1789. 

My  dearest  Friends,  —  I  have  her  Majesty's  commands  to 
inquire  —  whether  you  have  any  of  a  certain  breed  of 
poultry  ? 


140  DIARY   AND   LETTEKS  [1789. 

N.B.    What  breed  I  do  not  remember. 

And  to  say  she  has  just  received  a  small  group  of  the 
same  herself. 

N.B.  The  quantity  I  have  forgotten. 

And  to  add,  she  is  assured  they  are  something  very  rare 
and  scarce,  and  extraordinary  and  curious. 

N.B.  By  ivhom  she  was  assured  I  have  not  heard. 

And  to  subjoin,  that  you  must  send  word  if  you  have 
any  of  the  same  sort. 

N.B.  How  you  are  to  find  that  out,  I  cannot  tell. 

And  to  mention,  as  a  corollary,  that,  if  you  have  none 
of  them,  and  should  like  to  liave  some,  she  has  a  cock  and 
a  hen.  she  can  spare,  and  will  appropriate  them  to  Mr, 
Locke  and  my  dearest  Fredy. 

This  conclusive  stroke  so  pleased  and  exhilarated  me, 
that  forthwith  I  said  you  would  both  be  enchanted,  and  so 
forgot  all  the  preceding  particulars.  And  I  said,  more- 
over, that  I  knew  you  would  rear  them,  and  cbeer  them, 
and  fondle  them  like  your  children.  So  now  —  pray  write 
a  very  fair  answer  fairly,  in  fair  hand  and  to  fair  purpose. 

My  Susanna  is  just  now  come  —  so  all  is  fair  with  my 
dearest  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke's  F.  B. 


Queen's  Lodge,  "Windsor. 

April.  —  I  shall  abbreviate  this  month  also  of  its  chrono- 
logical exactness. 

The  same  gentlemen  continued.  Colonel  Manners  and 
Mr.  G.  Villiers.  But  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  is  softened  into 
nothing  but  civility  and  courtesy  to  me.  To  what  the 
change  is  owing  I  cannot  conjecture ;  but  I  do  all  that  in 
me  lies  to  support  it,  preferring  the  entire  sacrifice  of  every 
moment,  from  our  dinner  to  twelve  at  night,  to  her  harsh- 


1789.1  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  141 

ness  and  horrors.  Nevertheless,  a  lassitude  of  existence 
creeps  sensibly  upon  me. 

Colonel  Manners,  however,  for  the  short  half-hour  of  tea- 
time,  is  irresistibly  diverting.  He  continues  my  constant 
friend  and  neighbor,  and,  while  he  affects  to  plaij  off  the 
coadjutrix  to  advantage,  he  nods  at  me,  to  draw  forth  my 
laughter  or  approbation,  with  the  most  alarming  undisguise. 
I  often  fear  her  being  affronted ;  but  naturally  she  ad- 
mires him  very  much  for  his  uncommon  share  of  beauty, 
and  makes  much  allowance  for  his  levity.  However,  the 
never-quite-comprehended  affair  of  the  leather  bed-cover 
has  in  some  degree  intimidated  her  ever  since,  as  she  con- 
stantly apprehends  that,  if  he  were  provoked,  he  would 
play  her  some  trick. 

He  had  been  at  White's  ball,  given  in  town  upon  His 
Majesty's  recovery.  We  begged  some  account  of  it :  he 
ranted  away  with  great  fluency,  uttering  little  queer  sar- 
casms at  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  by  every  opportunity,  and 
coloring  when  he  had  done,  with  private  fear  of  enraging 
her.  This,  however,  she  suspected  not,  or  all  his  aim  had 
been  lost ;  for  to  alarm  her  is  his  delight. 

"  I  liked  it  all,"  he  said,  in  summing  up  his  relation, 
"  very  well,  except  the  music,  and  I  like  any  caw  —  caw  — 
caw,  better  than  that  sort  of  noise,  —  only  you  must  not 
tell  the  King  I  say  that,  ma'am,  because  the  Kiog  likes  it." 

She  objected  to  the  word  "  must  not,"  and  protested  she 
would  not  be  directed  hy  no  one,  and  would  tell  it,  if  she 
pleased.  Upon  this,  he  began  a  most  boisterous  threaten- 
ing of  the  evil  consequences  which  would  accrue  to  her- 
self, though  in  so  ludicrous  a  manner  that  how  she  could 
suppose  him  serious  was  my  wonder.  "  Take  care  of  your- 
self, ma'am,"  he  cried,  holding  up  his  finger  as  if  menacing 
a  child  ;  "  take  care  of  yourself  !  I  am  not  to  be  provoked 
twice  ! " 


142  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1789, 

This,  after  a  proud  resistance,  conquered  her  ;  and,  really 
frightened  at  she  knew  not  what,  she  fretfully  exclaimed, 
"  Ver  well,  sir !  —  I  wish  I  had  not  comm  down  !  I  won't 
no  more  !  you  might  have  your  tea  when  you  can  get  it !  " 

Eeturning  to  his  account,  he  owned  he  had  been  rather 
a  little  musical  himself  for  once,  which  was  when  they  all 
sang  "  God  save  the  King,"  after  the  supper ;  for  then  he 
joined  in  the  chorus,  as  well  and  as  loud  as  any  of  them, 
"  though  some  of  the  company,"  he  added,  "  took  the  lib- 
erty to  ask  me  not  to  be  so  loud,  because  they  pretended  I 
was  out  of  tune  ;  but  it  was  in  such  a  good  cause  that  I  did 
not  mind  that." 

She  was  no  sooner  recovered  than  the  attack  became 
personal  again ;  and  so  it  has  continued  ever  since  ;  he 
seems  bent  upon  " 'playinrj  her  off "  in  all  manners;  he 
braves  her,  then  compliments  her,  assents  to  her  opinion, 
and  the  next  moment  contradicts  her;  pretends  uncom- 
mon friendship  for  her,  and  then  laughs  in  her  face.  But 
his  worst  manceuvre  is  a  perpetual  application  to  me,  by 
looks  and  sly  glances,  which  fill  me  with  terror  of  passing 
for  an  accomplice ;  and  the  more,  as  I  find  it  utterly  im- 
possible to  keep  grave  during-  these  absurdities. 

And  yet,  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  the  story  is  that 
she  really  likes  him  !  though  at  times  she  is  so  angry,  she 
makes  vows  to  keep  to  her  own  room. 

Mr.  George  Villiers,  with  far  deeper  aim,  sneers  out  his 
own  more  artful  satire,  but  is  never  understood ;  while 
Colonel  Manners  domineers  with  so  high  a  hand,  he  carries 
all  before  him ;  and  whenever  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  to 
lessen  her  mortification,  draws  me  into  the  question,  he 
instantly  turns  off  whatever  she  begins  into  some  high- 
flown  compliment,  so  worded  also  as  to  convey  some  com- 
parative reproach.     This  offends  more  than  all. 

When  she  complains  to  me  of  him,  in  his  absence,  I 


1789.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  143 

answer  he  is  a  mere  schoolboy,  for  mischief,  without 
serious  design  of  displeasing  :  but  she  tells  me  she  sees  he 
means  to  do  her  some  harm,  and  she  will  let  the  King 
know,  if  he  goes  on  at  that  rate;  for  she  does  not  choose  such 
sort  of  familiarness. 

Once  she  apologized  suddenly  for  her  English,  and  Col- 
onel Manners  said,  "  Oh,  don't  mind  that,  ma'am,  for  I  take 
no  particular  notice  as  to  your  language."  "  But,"  says 
she,  "  Miss  Berner  might  tell  me,  when  I  speak  it  some- 
times not  quite  right,  w^hat  you  call." 

"  Oh  dear  no,  ma'am  !  "  exclaimed  he  ;  "  Miss  Burney  is 
of  too  mild  a  disposition  for  that :  she  could  not  correct 
you  strong  enough  to  do  you  good." 

"  Oh  !  —  ver  well,  sir  !  "  she  cried,  confounded  by  his 
effrontery. 

One  day  she  lamented  she  had  been  absent  when  there 
was  so  much  agreeable  company  in  the  house;  "And  now," 
she  added,  "  now  that  I  am  comm  back,  here  is  nobody  !  — 
not  one  !  —  no  society  ! "  He  protested  this  was  not  to  be 
endured,  and  told  her  that  to  reckon  all  iis  nobody  was  so 
bad,  he  should  resent  it.  "  What  will  you  do,  my  good 
Colonel  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Oh  ma'am,  do?  —  l  will  tell  Dr.  Davis." 

"  And  who  bin  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  's  the  master  of  Eton  school,  ma'am  ! "  with  a 
thundering  bawl  in  her  ears,  that  made  her  stop  them. 

"  No,  sir  ! "  she  cried,  indignantly,  "  I  thank  you  for  that ! 
I  won't  have  no  Dr.  schoolmaster,  what  you  call !  I  bin  too 
old  for  that." 

"  But  ma'am,  he  shall  bring  you  a  Latin  oration  upon 
this  subject,  and  you  must  hear  it!"  "Oh,  'tis  all  the 
sam  !     I  shan't  not  understand  it,  so  I  won't  not  hear  it !  " 

"  But  you  must,  ma'am.  If  /  write  it,  I  shan't  let  you 
off  so  :  —  you  7nust  hear  it !  " 


144  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

"  No,  I  won't !  —  Miss  Berner  might,  —  give  it  her  !  " 
"  Does  Miss  Burney  know  Latin  ? "  cried  Mr.  G.  Villiers. 
"  Not  one  word,"  quoth  I. 

"  I  believe  that !  "  cried  she,  "  but  she  might  hear  it  the 
sam  ! " 

The  Queen  graciously  presented  me  with  an  extremely 
pretty  medal  of  green  and  gold,  and  a  motto,  Vive  le  Boi, 
upon  the  Thanksgiving  occasion,  as  well  as  a  fan,  orna- 
mented with  the  words  —  Health  restored  to  07ie,  and  hap- 
piness to  millions. 

May.  —  I  must  give  the  few  incidents  of  this  month  in 
all  brevity. 

On  the  2nd  of  May  I  met  Colonel  Manners,  waiting  at 
the  corner  of  a  passage  leading  towards  the  Queen's  apart- 
ments. "  Is  the  King,  ma'am,"  he  cried,  "  there  ?  because 
Prince  William  is  come."  I  had  heard  he  was  arrived  in 
town,  —  and  with  much  concern,  since  it  was  without  leave 
of  the  King.  It  was  in  the  illness,  indeed,  of  the  King  he 
sailed  to  England,  and  when  he  had  probably  all  the  excuse 
of  believing  his  Eoyal  Father  incapable  of  further  gover- 
nance. How  did  I  grieve  for  the  feelings  of  that  Royal 
Father,  in  this  idea !  yet  it  certainly  offers  for  Prince 
William  his  best  apology. 

In  the  evening,  while  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  Mrs.  Zachary, 
and  myself  were  sitting  in  the  eating  parlor,  the  door  was 
suddenly  opened  by  Mr.  Alberts,  the  Queen's  page,  and 
"  Prince  William  "  was  announced. 

He  came  to  see  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  He  is  handsome, 
as  are  all  the  Royal  Family,  though  he  is  not  of  a  height 
to  be  called  a  good  figure.  He  looked  very  hard  at  the 
two  strangers,  but  made  us  all  sit,  very  civilly,  and  drew  a 
chair  for  himself,  and  began  to  discourse,  with  the  most 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  145 

unbounded  openness  and  careless  ease,  of  everything  that 
occurred  to  him. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  said  she  had  pitied  him  for  the  grief 
he  must  have  felt  at  the  news  of  the  King's  illness:  "Yes," 
cried  he,  "  I  was  very  sorry  for  His  Majesty,  very  sorry  in- 
deed, —  no  man  loves  the  King  better ;  of  that  be  assured. 
But  all  sailors  love  their  King.  And  I  felt  for  the  Queen, 
too, —  I  did, 'faith.  I  was  horribly  agitated  when  I  saw 
the  King  first.     I  could  hardly  stand." 

Then  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  suddenly  said,  "  Miss  Berner, 
now  you  might  see  his  Eoyal  Highness  ;  you  wanted  it  so 
moch,  and  now  you  might  do  it.  Your  Eoyal  Highness, 
that  is  Miss  Berner." 

He  rose  very  civilly,  and  bowed,  to  this  strange  freak  of 
introduction :  and,  of  course,  I  rose  and  curtseyed  low,  and 
waited  his  commands  to  sit  again  ;  which  were  given  in- 
stantly, with  great  courtesy.  "  Ma'am,"  cried  he,  "  you 
have  a  Brother  in  the  service  ? "  "  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered, 
much  pleased  with  this  professional  attention.  He  had 
not,  he  civilly  said,  the  pleasure  to  know  him,  but  he  had 
heard  of  him.  Then,  turning  suddenly  to  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg, "  Pray,"  cried  he,  "  what  is  become  of  Mrs.  —  Mrs.  — 
Mrs.  Hogentot  ? " 

"  Oh,  your  Eoyal  Highness ! "  cried  she,  stifling  much 
offence,  "  do  you  mean  the  poor  Haggerdorn  ?  —  Oh,  your 
Eoyal  Highness !  have  you  forgot  her  ? "  "I  have,  upon 
mj''  w^ord  !  "  cried  he,  plumply  ;  "  upon  my  soul,  I  have  ! " 
Then  turning  again  to  me,  "  I  am  very  happy,  ma'am,"  lie 
cried,  "  to  see  you  here  ;  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  the 
Queen  should  appoint  the  sister  of  a  sea-oflficer  to  so  eligi- 
ble a  situation.  As  long  as  she  has  a  brother  in  the 
service,  ma'am,"  cried  he  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  "  I  look 
upon  her  as  one  of  us.  Oh,  'faith  I  do  !  I  do  indeed  !  she 
is  one  of  the  corps." 

VOL.  II.  10 


146  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Then  lie  said  he  had  been  making  acquaintance  with  a 
new  Princess,  one  he  did  not  know  nor  remember  —  Prin- 
cess Amelia.  "  Mary,  too,"  he  said,  "  I  had  quite  forgot ; 
and  they  did  not  tell  me  who  she  was ;  so  I  went  up  to 
her,  and,  without  in  the  least  recollecting  her,  she 's  so 
monstrously  grown,  I  said,  '  Pray,  ma'am,  are  you  one  of 
the  attendants  ? '  " 

Princess  Sophia  is  his  professed  favorite.  "  I  have  had 
the  honor,"  he  cried,  "  of  about  an  hour's  conversation  with 
that  young  lady,  in  the  old  style ;  though  I  have  given  up 
my  mad  frolics  now.  To  be  sure,  I  had  a  few  in  that  style 
formerly  !  —  upon  my  word  I  am  almost  ashamed  I  —  Ha  ! 
ha!  ha!" 

Then,  recollecting  particulars,  he  laughed  vehemently, 
but  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  eagerly  interrupted  his  communi- 
cations ;  I  fancy  some  of  them  might  have  related  to  our 
own  sacred  person  !  "  Augusta,"  he  said,  "  looks  very  well 
—  a  good  face  and  countenance  —  she  looks  inter'&sting  — 
she  looks  as  if  she  knew  more  than  she  would  say ;  and  I 
like  that  character." 

He  stayed  a  full  hour,  chatting  in  this  good-humored 
and  familiar  manner. 

For  all  the  early  part  of  this  month  I  was  grievously  ill 
with  a  pain  in  my  face.  I  applied  for  it  a  blister,  in  vain  ; 
I  had  then  recourse  to  leeches,  and  one  of  them  certainly 
bit  a  nerve,  for  what  I  suffered  surpasses  description  ;  it  was 
torture,  it  was  agony !  I  fully  thought  myself  poisoned, 
and  I  am  most  thankful  to  add  that  during  that  persuasion 
I  felt  a  freedom  from  what  are  called  the  "horrors  of 
death,"  which,  at  my  recovery  and  ever  since,  has  paid  me 
for  that  exquisite  suffering. 

All  good,  all  patient  with  human  infirmities,  I  painted 
to  myself  that  Great  Creator  before  whom  I  believed  my- 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  147 

self  prematurely  appearing,  and  the  dread  of  his  ^vrath  was 
sunk  in  the  hope  of  his  mercy  through  the  Eedeemer. 
Whether  I  should  feel  this  mental  calm  when  not  in  such 
dire  bodily  pain,  Heaven  only  knows  !  I  am  the  happier 
that  I  have  ever  felt  it,  when  I  believed  the  end  of  all 
approaching. 

But  why  do  I  forget  the  resolution  with  which  I  began 
these  my  chronicles,  of  never  mixing  with  them  my  re- 
ligious sentiments  —  opinions — hopes — fears — belief — or 
aspirations  ? 

In  my  books  upon  those,  which  no  human  eye  but  my 
own  has  ever  been  cast  over,  I  blend  nothing  mundane  — 
I  mean  as  to  my  affairs  ;  for  as  to  my  thoughts  and  feelings, 
let  me  try  how  I  may  —  and  I  try  with  all  my  might  —  to 
refine  them  and  fit  them  for  sacred  subjects  —  I  dare  not 
presume  that  I  have  had  such  success  as  really  to  have 
purified  them  from  the  worldly  dross  that  forms,  rather 
than  mingles  with,  all  I  scrawl  down  helter-skelter  in  my 
memorandum  chronicles.  However,  I  never  will  jumble 
together  what  I  deem  holy  with  what  I  know  to  be  trivial. 

June.  —  This  month,  till  our  journey  to  Weymouth  took 
place,  passed  without  mark  or  likelihood,  save  one  little 
token  of  Spanish  gallantry  from  the  Marquis  del  Campo, 
who,  when  he  came  to  Windsor,  after  reproving  me  very 
civilly  for  being  absent  from  his  fete,  told  me  he  had  re- 
membered me  during  the  drawing  of  his  lottery,  that 
night,  and  "  had  taken  the  liberty  to  bring  me  my  prize," 
which  was  a  blue  enamel  ring  with  a  motto. 

Now,  though  this  remembrance  on  such  an  evening  was 
impossible,  there  was  no  refusing,  without  affronting  him, 
the  very  good-humored  and  polite  pretence. 


148  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Miss  Biirney  to  Dr.  Bicniei/. 

Gloucester  House,  "Weymouth,  July  13,  1789. 

My  dearest  Padre's  kind  letter  was  most  truly  welcome 
to  me.  When  I  am  so  distant,  the  term  of  absence  or  of 
silence  seems  always  doubly  long  to  me. 

The  bay  here  is  most  beautiful ;  the  sea  nev^er  rough, 
generally  calm  and  gentle,  and  the  sands  perfectly  smooth 
and  pleasant.  I  have  not  yet  bathed,  for  I  have  had  a  cold 
in  my  head,  which  I  caught  at  Lyndhurst,  and  which  makes 
me  fear  beginning ;  but  I  have  hopes  to  be  well  enough  to- 
morrow, and  thenceforward  to  ail  nothing  more.  It  is  my 
intention  to  cast  away  all  superfluous  complaints  into  the 
main  ocean,  which  I  think  quite  sufficiently  capacious  to 
hold  them ;  and  really  my  little  frame  will  find  enough  to 
carry  and  manage  without  them. 

Colonel  Goldsworthy  has  just  sent  me  in  a  newspaper 
containing  intelligence  that  Angelica  Kauffman  ^  is  making 
drawings  from  "  Evelina  "  for  the  Empress  of  Eussia  !  Do 
you  think  the .  Empress  of  Eussia  hears  of  anything  now 
besides  Turkey  and  tlie  Emperor  ?  And  is  not  Angelica 
Kauffman  dead  ?  0,  wdiat  an  Oracle !  for  such  is  the 
paper  called. 

His  Majesty  is  in  delightful  health,  and  much-improved 
spirits.  All  agree  he  never  looked  better.  The  loyalty  of 
all  this  place  is  excessive ;  they  have  dressed  out  every 
street  with  labels  of  "  God  save  the  King ; "  all  the  shops 
have  it  over  the  doors  ;  all  the  children  wear  it  in  their 
caps  —  all  the  laborers  in  their  hats,  and  all  the  sailors  in 
their  voices;   for  they  never  approach  the  house  without 

1  The  daugliter  of  a  Swiss  painter  born  at  Coire  in  1740.  She  studied 
at  Rome  and  Venice,  and  afterwards  came  to  England,  where  she  enjoyed 
a  brilliant  reputation  for  many  years,  and  was  ultimately  elected  a  Royal 
Academician.     Her  death  did  not  take  place  till  1807. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  149 

shouting  it  alond  —  nor  see  the  King,  or  his  shadow,  with- 
out beginning  to  huzza,  and  going  on  to  tliree  cheers. 

The  bathing-machines  make  it  their  motto  over  all  their 
windows ;  and  those  bathers  that  belong  to  the  royal  dip- 
pers wear  it  in  bandeaux  on  their  bonnets,  to  go  into  tlie 
sea.;  and  have  it  again,  in  large  letters,  round  their  waists, 
to  encounter  the  waves.  Flannel  dresses,  tucked  up,  and 
no  shoes  nor  stockings,  with  bandeaux  and  girdles,  have  a 
most  singular  appearance ;  and  when  first  I  surveyed  these 
loyal  nymphs,  it  was  with  some  difficulty  I  kept  my  fea- 
tures in  order.  Nor  is  this  all.  Think  but  of  the  surprise 
of  His  Majesty  when,  the  first  time  of  his  bathing,  he  had 
no  sooner  popped  his  royal  head  under  water  than  a  band 
of  music,  concealed  in  a  neighboring  machine,  struck  up 
"  God  save  great  George  our  King." 

One  thing,  however,  was  a  little  unlucky ;  —  when  the 
Mayor  and  burgesses  came  with  the  address,  they  requested 
leave  to  kiss  hands.  This  was  graciously  accorded ;  but, 
the  Mayor  advancing  in  a  common  way,  to  take  the  Queens 
hand,  as  he  might  that  of  any  lady  mayoress.  Colonel 
Gwynn,  who  stood  by,  whispered,  "  You  must  kneel,  sir  ! " 
He  found,  however,  that  he  took  no  notice  of  this  hint,  but 
kissed  the  Queen's  hand  erect.  As  he  passed  him,  in  his 
way  back,  the  Colonel  said,  "  You  should  have  knelt,  sir  !  " 
"  Sir,"  answered  the  poor  Mayor,  "  I  cannot." 

"  Everybody  does,  sir." 

"  Sir, — I  have  a  wooden  leg  ! "  Poor  man  !  't  was  such 
a  surprise  !  and  such  an  excuse  as  no  one  could  dispute. 
But  the  absurdity  of  the  matter  followed — all  the  rest  did 
the  same  ;  taking  the  same  privilege,  by  the  example, 
without  the  same  or  any  cause  ! 

We  have  just  got  Mrs.  Piozzi's  book  here.  My  Eoyal 
mistress  is  reading,  and  will  then  lend  it  me.  Have  you 
read  it  ? 


160  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

A  thousand  thanks  for  your  home  news. 

I  am,  most  dear  sir,  affectionately  and  dutifully  your 

F.  B. 

Wednesday,  July  15th.  —  Mrs.  Gwynn  is  arrived,  and 
means  to  spend  the  Eoyal  season  here.  She  lodges  at  the 
hotel  just  by,  and  we  have  met  several  times.  She  is 
very  soft  and  pleasing,  and  still  as  beautiful  as  an  angel. 
We  have  had  two  or  three  long  tete-a-tetes,  and  talked 
over,  with  great  pleasure,  anecdotes  of  our  former  mutual 
acquaintances  —  Dr.  Johnson,  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds,  Mrs. 
Thrale,  Baretti,  Miss  Eeynolds,  Miss  Palmer,  and  her  old 
admirer.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  of  whom  she  relates  —  as  who 
does  not  ?  —  a  thousand  ridiculous  traits. 

The  Queen  is  reading  Mrs.  Piozzi's  "  Tour  "  to  me,  in- 
stead of  my  reading  it  to  her.  She  loves  reading  aloud, 
and  in  this  work  finds  me  an  able  commentator.  How 
like  herself,  how  characteristic  is  every  line  !  —  Wild,  en- 
tertaining, flighty,  inconsistent,  and  clever  ! 

Thursday,  16th.  —  This  morning  the  Eoyal  party  went 
to  Dorchester,  and  I  strolled  upon  the  sands  with  Mrs. 
Gwynn.  We  overtook  a  lady,  of  a  very  majestic  port  and 
demeanor,  who  solemnly  returned  Mrs.  Gwynn's  saluta- 
tion, and  then  addressed  herself  to  me  with  similar  gravity. 
I  saw  a  face  I  knew,  and  of  very  uncommon  beauty ;  but 
did  not  immediately  recollect  it  was  Mrs.  Siddons. 

She  is  come  here,  she  says,  solely  for  her  health  ;  she 
has  spent  some  days  with  Mrs.  Gwynn,  at  General  Har- 
court's.     Her  husband  was  with  her,  and  a  sweet  child. 

I  wished  to  have  tried  if  her  solemnity  would  have  worn 
away  by  length  of  conversation  ;  but  I  was  obliged  to 
hasten  home.  But  my  dearest  Fredy's  opinion,  joined  to 
that  of  my  sister  Esther,  satisfies  me  I  was  a  loser  by  this 
DBcessary  forbearance.  , 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  151 

Wednesday,  July  29th.  —  We  went  to  the  play,  and 
saw  Mrs.  Siddons  in  Ecsalind.  She  looked  beautifully, 
but  too  large  for  that  shepherd's  dress  ;  and  her  gaiety  sits 
not  naturally  upon  her  — it  seems  more  like  disguised 
gravity.  I  must  own  my  admiration  for  her  confined  to 
her  tragic  powers ;  and  there  it  is  raised  so  high  that  I  feel 
mortified,  in  a  degree,  to  see  her  so  much  fainter  attempts 
and  success  in  comedy. 

Friday,  July  31st.  —  This  afternoon,  when  I  came  into 
the  parlor,  I  saw  a  stranger,  but  habited  in  the  uniform, 
and  of  a  pleasing  appearance.  We  bowed  and  curtseyed 
■ —  both  silent.  I  expected  him  to  announce  his  business  ; 
he  expected  me  to  give  him  some  welcome  ;  which  when  I 
found,  concluding  him  arrived  on  some  commands  from  the 
King,  I  begged  him  to  be  seated,  and  took  my  usual  chair. 

"  Perhaps,  ma'am,"  he  then  cried,  "  this  is  your  room  ? " 

I  assented,  a  little  surprised. 

"  I  am  just  come,"  he  said,  "  with  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
who  is  gone  to  His  Majesty." 

"  Then  perhaps,  sir,"  cried  T,  "  this  is  your  room  ?  " 

He  laughed,  but  disclaimed  owning  it.  However,  I 
found  he  was  the  Duke's  gentleman-in-waiting,  and  had 
concluded  this  the  apartment  destined  for  the  equerries. 

This  retort  courteous  in  our  address  took  off  stiffness 
from  either  side,  and  we  entered  into  a  general  conversa- 
tion, chiefly  upon  the  French.  I  found  him  sprightly, 
intelligent,  and  well-bred.  He  stayed  with  me  more  than 
an  hour,  and  then  parted  to  look  for  the  equerries,  to 
whose  apartments  I  sent  Columb  to  conduct  him ;  and 
neither  of  us,  probably,  knew  the  name  of  the  other  till 
we  were  separated ;  I  then  found  his  was  Vincent.  He  is 
a  nephew  of  Sir  George  Howard. 


152  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [l789. 

Gloucester  House,  Weymouth. 

Monday,  August  3rd.  —  The  loyalty  and  obedient  re- 
spect of  the  people  here  to  their  King  are  in  a  truly  primi- 
tive style.  The  whole  Eoyal  party  went  to  see  Lulworth 
Castle,  intending  to  be  back  to  dinner,  and  go  to  the 
play  at  night,  which  their  Majesties  had  ordered,  with  Mrs. 
Siddons  to  play  Lady  Townly.  Dinner-time,  however, 
came  and  passed,  and  they  arrived  not.  They  went  by 
sea,  and  the  wind  proved  contrary ;  and  about  seven 
o'clock  a  hobby  groom  was  despatclied  hither  by  land,  with 
intelligence  that  they  had  only  reached  Lulworth  Castle  at 
live  o'clock.  They  meant  to  be  certainly  back  by  eight ; 
but  sent  their  commands  that  the  farce  might  be  performed 
first,  and  the  play  wait  them. 

The  manager  repeated  this  to  tlie  audience,  —  already 
waiting  and  wearied ;  but  a  loud  applause  testified  their 
agreedbility  to  whatever  could  be  proposed. 

The  farce,  however,  was  much  sooner  over  than  the  pas- 
sage from  Lulworth  Castle.  It  was  ten  o'clock  wlien  they 
landed  !  And  all  this  time  the  audience  —  spectators 
rather  —  quietly  waited  ! 

They  landed  just  by  the  theatre,  and  went  to  the  house 
of  Lady  Pembroke,  who  is  now  here  in  attendance  upon 
the  Queen  :  and  there  they  sent  home  for  the  King's  page, 
ivith  a  U'iff,  &c.  ;  and  the  Queen's  wardrobe-woman,  with 
similar  decorations ;  and  a  message  to  Miss  Planta  and  me, 
that  we  might  go  at  once  to  the  theatre.  We  obeyed  ;  and 
soon  after  they  appeared,  and  were  received  with  the  most 
violent  gusts  of  joy  and  huzzas,  even  from  the  galleries 
over  their  heads,  whose  patience  had  not  the  reward  of 
seeing  them  at  last.  Is  not  this  a  charming  trait  of  pro- 
vincial popularity!  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  her  looks,  and  the 
tragic  part,  was  exquisite. 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  153 

Tuesday,  August  4th.  —  To-day  all  the  Eoyals  went  to 
Sherborne  Castle. 

My  day  being  perfectly  at  liberty,  Mrs.  Gwynn  stayed 
and  spent  it  with  me. 

The  weatlier  was  beautiful ;  the  sea-breezes  here  keep  off 
intense  heat  in  the  warmest  season.     We  walked  first  to 

see  the  shrubbery  and  plantation  of  a  lady,  Mrs.  B ,  wlio 

has  a  very  pretty  house  about  a  mile  and  a  half  out  of  tlie 
town.  Here  we  rested,  and  regaled  ourselves  with  sweet 
flowers,  and  then  proceeded  to  the  old  castle,  —  its  ruins 
rather,  —  which  we  most  completely  examined,  not  leaving 
one  stone  untrod,  except  such  as  must  have  precipitated 
us  into  the  sea.  This  castle  is  built  almost  in  the  sea, 
upon  a  perpendicular  rock,  and  its  situation,  therefore, 
is  nobly  bold  and  striking.  It  is  little  more  now  than 
walls,  and  a  few  little  winding  staircases  at  its  four  cor- 
ners. 

I  had  not  imagined  my  beautiful  companion  could  ha\e 
taken  so  much  pleasure  from  an  excursion  so  romantic  and 
lonely;  but  she  enjoyed  it  very  much,  clambered  about  as 
unaffectedly  as  if  she  bad  lived  in  rural  scenes  all  her  life. 
and  left  nothing  unexamined. 

We  then  prowled  along  the  sands  at  the  foot  of  the  ad- 
joining rocks,  and  picked  up  sea-weeds  and  shells ;  but  I 
do  not  think  they  were  such  as  to  drive  Sir  Ash  ton  Lever, 
or  the  Museum-keepers,  to  despair !  We  had  the  Queen's 
two  little  dogs,  Badine  and  Phillis,  for  our  guards  and  asso- 
ciates. We  returned  home  to  a  very  late  tea,  thoroughly 
tired,  but  very  much  pleased.  To  me  it  was  the  only  rural 
excursion  I  had  taken  for  more  than  three  years. 

Sunday,  August  16th.  —  This  is  the  birthday  of  tlie 
Duke  of  York.  Births  and  deaths!  —  how  do  they  make 
up  the  calculations  of  time  ! 

Lord  Courtown  brought  me  a  verv  obliging  message  from 


154  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Lady  Mount-Edgecumbe,  who  had  been  here  at  noon  to 
kiss  hands,  on  becoming  a  Countess  from  a  Baroness.  She 
sent  to  invite  me  to  see  her  place,  and  contrive  to  dine 
and  spend  the  day  there.  Her  Majesty  approves  the 
Mount-Edgecumbe  invitation. 

Monday,  August  17th.  —  The  Queen  sent  for  me  in 
the  afternoon,  to  hear  her  own  private  diary,  and  tell  her  if 
it  was  English.  Indeed  there  was  scarce  an  expression 
that  was  foreign. 

Wednesday,  August  19th. — -Again  this  morning  was 
spent  by  the  Royals  at  Plymouth  Dock  —  by  me  in  strolls 
round  the  house.  The  wood  here  is  truly  enchanting ;  the 
paths  on  the  slant  down  to  the  water  resemble  those  of 
sweet  Norbury  Park. 

The  tea,  also,  was  too  much  the  same  to  be  worth  detail- 
ing. I  will  only  mention  a  speech  which  could  not  but 
divert  me,  of  Mr.  Alberts,  the  Queen's  page.  He  said  no- 
body dared  represent  to  the  King  the  danger  of  his  present 
continual  exertion  in  this  hot  weather,  "  unless  it  is  Mr. 
Fairly,"  he  added,  "  who  can  say  anything,  in  his  genteel 
roundabout  way." 

Monday,  August  24th.  —  To-day  the  Royals  went  to 
Marystow,  Colonel  Hey  wood's,  and  Miss  Planta  and  myself 
to  Mount-Edgecumbe.  The  Queen  had  desired  me  to  take 
Miss  Planta,  and  I  had  written  to  prepare  Lady  Mount- 
Edgecumbe  for  a  companion. 

We  went  in  a  chaise  to  the  ferry,  and  thence  in  a  boat. 
I  did  not  like  this  part  of  the  business,  for  we  had  no 
pilot  we  knew,  nor  any  one  to  direct  us.  They  would 
hardly  believe,  at  Mount-Edgecumbe,  we  had  adventured 
in  so  unguarded  a  manner :  but  our  superior  is  too  high  to 
discover  difficulties,  or  know  common  precautions  ;  and 
we  fare,  therefore,  considerably  worse  in  all  these  excur- 
sions, from  belonging  to  crowned  heads,  than  we  should 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  15B 

do  in  our  own  private  stations,  if  visiting  at  any  part  of 
the  kingdom. 

Safe,  however,  though  not  pleasantly,  we  arrived  on  the 
opposite  shore;  where  we  found  a  gardener  and  a  very 
commodious  garden-chair  waiting  for  us.  We  drove  through 
a  sweet  park  to  the  house,  at  the  gate  of  wliich  stood  Lord 
and  Lady  Mount-Edgecumbe,  who  told  us  that  they  had 
just  heard  an  intention  of  their  Majesties  to  sail  the  next 
day  up  the  river  Tamar,  and  therefore  they  thought  it 
their  duty  to  hasten  off  to  a  seat  they  have  near  its  banks, 
Coteil,  with  refreshments  and  accommodations,  in  case  they 
should  be  honored  with  a  visit  to  see  the  place,  which  was 
very  ancient  and  curious.  They  should  leave  Lord  Valle- 
tort  to  do  the  honors,  and  expressed  much  civil  regret  in 
the  circumstance  :  but  the  distance  was  too  great  to  admit 
of  tlie  journey,  over  bad  roads,  if  they  deferred  it  till  after 
dinner. 

We  then  proceeded,  in  the  chair,  to  see  the  place :  it  is 
truly  noble ;  but  I  sliall  enter  into  no  description  from 
want  of  time :  but  take  a  list  simply  of  its  particular 
points.  The  sea,  in  some  places,  shows  itself  in  its  whole 
vast  and  Unlimited  expanse ;  at  others,  the  jutting  land 
renders  it  merely  a  beautiful  basin  or  canal ;  the  borders 
down  to  the  sea  are  in  some  parts  flourishing  with  the 
finest  evergreens  and  most  vivid  verdure,  and  in  others  are 
barren,  rocky,  and  perilous.  In  one  moment  you  might 
suppose  yourself  cast  on  a  desert  island,  and  the  next  find 
yourself  in  the  most  fertile  and  luxurious  country.  In 
different  views  we  were  shown  Cawsand  Bay,  the  Hamoaze, 
the  rocks  called  The  Maker,  &c.,  — Dartmoor  Hills,  Ply- 
mouth, the  Dockyard,  Saltram,  and  St.  George's  Channel. 
Several  noble  ships,  manned  and  commissioned,  were  in 
the  Hamoaze ;  amongst  tliem  our  Weymouth  friends,  the 
"  Magnificent,"  and  "  Southampton." 


156  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

A  very  beautiful  flower-garden  is  enclosed  in  one  part 
of  the  grounds ;  and  huts,  seats,  and  ornaments  in  general, 
were  well  adapted  to  the  scenery  of  the  place.  A  seat  is 
consecrated  to  Mrs.  Darner,  with  an  acrostic  on  her  name 
by  Lord  Valletort.  It  is  surprising  to  see  the  state  of  veg- 
etation at  this  place,  so  close  to  the  main.  Myrtles,  pome- 
granates, evergreens,  and  flowering  shrubs,  all  tlirive,  and 
stand  the  cold  blast,  when  planted  in  a  southern  aspect, 
as  safely  as  in  an  inland  country.  As  it  is  a  peninsula, 
it  has  all  aspects,  and  the  plantations  and  dispositions  of 
the  ground  are  admirably  and  skilfully  assorted  to  them. 

The  great  open  view,  however,  disappointed  me :  the 
towns  it  shows  have  no  prominent  features,  the  country 
is  as  flat  as  it  is  extensive,  and  the  various  branches  of  tlie 
sea  which  run  into  it  give,  upon  their  retreat,  a  marshy, 
muddy,  unpleasant  appearance.  There  is,  besides,  a  want 
of  some  one  striking  object  to  arrest  the  eye,  and  fix  the 
attention,  which  wearies  from  the  general  glare.  •  Points, 
however,  there  are,  both  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  that 
merit  all  the  fame  which  this  noble  place  has  acquired. 

In  our  tour  around  it  we  met  Lord  Stopford,  Mr.  Towns- 
hend,  and  Captain  Douglas ;  and  heard  a  tremendous  account 
of  the  rage  of  the  sea-captains,  on  being  disappointed  of  a 
dinner  at  the  Eoyal  visit  to  Mount-Edgecumbe. 

We  did  not  quit  these  fine  grounds  till  near  dinner-time. 
The  housekeeper  then  showed  us  the  house,  and  a  set  of 
apartments  newly  fitted  up  for  the  Eoyals,  had  they  chosen 
to  sleep  at  Mount-Edgecumbe.  The  house  is  old,  and  seems 
pleasant  and  convenient.  In  a  very  pretty  circular  parlor, 
which  had  the  appearance  of  being  the  chief  living  room, 
I  saw  amongst  a  small  collection  of  books,  "  Cecilia. "  I 
immediately  laid  a  wager  with  myself  the  first  volume 
would  open  upon  Pacchierotti ;  and  I  won  it  very  honestly, 
though  I  never  expect  to  be  paid  it.     The  chapter,  "  An 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  157 

Opera  Eehearsal, "  was  so  well  read,  tlie  leaves  always  flew 
apart  to  display  it. 

Monday,  September  14th.  —  We  all  left  AYeymouth. 

All  possible  honors  were  paid  the  King  on  his  departure  ; 
lords,  ladies,  and  sea-officers  lined  the  way  that  he  passed, 
the  guns  of  the  Magnificent  and  Southampton  fired  the  part- 
ing salute,  and  the  ships  were  under  sail. 

We  all  set  out  as  before,  but  parted  on  the  road.  The 
Koyals  went  to  breakfast  at  Eedlinch,  the  seat  of  Lord 
Ilchester,  where  Mr.  Fairly  was  in  waiting  for  them,  and 
thence  proceeded  to  a  collation  at  Sherborne  Castle,  wliither 
he  was  to  accompany  them,  and  then  resign  liis  present 
attendance,  which  has  been  long  and  troublesome  and  irk- 
some, I  am  sure. 

Miss  Planta  and  myself  proceeded  to  Longleat,  the  seat 
of  the  Marquis  of  Bath,  late  Lord  Weymouth,  where  we 
were  all  to  dine,  sleep,  and  spend  the  following  day  and 
night.  Longleat  was  formerly  the  dwelling  of  the  Earl  of 
Lansdowne,  uncle  to  Mrs.  Delauy ;  and  here,  at  this  seat, 
that  heartless  uncle,  to  promote  some  political  views,  sac- 
rificed his  incomparable  niece,  at  the  age  of  seventeen, 
marrying  her  to  an  unwieldy,  uncultivated  country  esquire, 
near  sixty  years  of  age,  and  scarce  ever  sober  —  his  name 
Pendarves.  With  how  sad  an  awe,  in  recollecting  her  sub- 
missive unhappiness,  did  I  enter  these  doors  !  —  and  with 
what  indignant  hatred  did  I  look  at  the  portrait  of  the 
unfeeling  Earl,  to  whom  her  gentle  repugnance,  shown  by 
almost  incessant  tears,  was  thrown  away,  as  if  she,  her  per- 
son, and  her  existence  were  nothing  in  the  scale,  where  the 
disposition  of  a  few  boroughs  opposed  them  !  Yet  was  this 
the  famous  Granville  —  the  poet,  the  fine  gentleman,  the 
statesman,  the  friend  and  patron  of  Pope,  of  whom  he 
wrote  — 

"  What  muse  for  Granville  can  refuse  to  sing  ?" 

Mine,  I  am  sure,  for  one. 


158  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Lady  Bath  showed  us  our  rooms,  to  which  we  repaired 
immediately,  to  dress  before  the  arrival  of  the  Koyals. 

We  dined  with  the  gentlemen,  all  but  the  Marquis,  who 
was  admitted,  in  his  own  house,  to  dine  with  the  King  and 
Queen,  as  were  all  the  ladies  of  his  family.  Lord  Wey- 
mouth, the  eldest  son,  was  our  president ;  and  two  of  his 
brothers,  Lords  George  and  John,  with  Lord  Courtown 
and  the  two  Colonels,  made  the  party.  The  Weymouths, 
Thynnes  rather,  are  silent,  and  we  had  but  little  talk  or 
entertainment. 

My  poor  Mrs.  Delany  was  constantly  in  my  mind  — 
constantly,  constantly  !  I  thought  I  saw  her  meek  image 
vainly  combating  affliction  and  disgust  with  duty  and  com- 
pliance, and  weeping  floods  of  tears,  unnoticed  by  her 
unrelenting  persecutor.  We  spent  all  the  following  day 
here.  I  went  to  the  chapel ;  I  felt  horror-struck  as  I 
looked  at  the  altar ;  what  an  offering  for  ambition !  what 
a  sacrifice  to  tyranny  ! 

The  house  is  very  magnificent,  and  of  an  immense  mag- 
nitude. It  seems  much  out  of  repair,  and  by  no  means 
cheerful  or  comfortable.  Gloomy  grandeur  seems  the 
proper  epithet  for  the  building  and  its  fitting-up.  It  had 
been  designed  for  a  monastery,  and,  as  such,  was  nearly 
completed  when  Henry  VIII.  dissolved  those  seminaries. 

Friday,  September  18th.  —  We  left  Tottenham  Court, 
and  returned  to  Windsor.  The  Eoyals  hastened  to  the 
younger  Princesses,  and  I  ....  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 
I  was  civilly  received,  however.  But  deadly  dead  sunk 
my  heart  as  I  entered  her  apartment. 

The  next  day  I  had  a  visit  from  my  dear  brother 
Charles  —  full  of  business,  letters,  &c.  I  rejoiced  to  see 
him,  and  to  confab  over  all  his  affairs,  plans,  and  visions, 
more  at  full  length  than  for  a  long  time  past.  I  was 
forced  to  introduce  liim  to  Mrs.   Schwellenberg,  and  he 


1789.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  159 

flourished  away  successfully  enough  ;  but  it  was  very  vex- 
atious, as  he  had  matters  innumerable  for  discussion. 

November.  —  My  memorandums  of  this  month  are  very 
regular ;  but  I  shall  beg  leave  to  condense  them  all  into 
the  days  and  circumstances  essential. 

Upon  the  birthday  of  the  Princess  Sophia  I  had  the 
honor  to  present  my  pretty  Leatherhead  fairings  —  the 
pincushion,  needle-book,  and  letter-case  of  pink  satin,  and 
the  inkstand,  so  long  deferred,  for  Princess  Mary. 

Early  in  this  month  I  had  the  solace  of  three  little 
interviews  with  my  beloved  Susanna.  On  the  birthday  of 
the  Princess  Augusta,  the  excellent  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smelt, 
just  arrived  from  their  summer  tour  to  their  daughters, 
came  hither  with  congratulations.  As  it  proved,  't  was  the 
last  visit  of  that  very  white-souled  and  amiable  woman, 
and  the  last  time  I  ever  beheld  her ;  but  she  was  particu- 
larly well,  and  there  appeared  no  symptom  of  the  fatal  end 
so  near  approaching. 

The  following  day  Colonel  Gwynn  came.  He  told  us, 
at  tea-time,  the  wonderful  recovery  of  Colonel  Golds- 
worthy,  who  has  had  an  almost  desperate  illness  ;  and  then 
added  that  he  had  dined  the  preceding  day  with  him,  and 
met  Mr.  Fairly,  who  was  coming  to  Windsor,  and  all  pre- 
pared, when  he  was  suddenly  stopped,  on  the  very  preced- 
ing evening,  by  a  fresh  attack  of  the  gout.  I  heard  this 
with  much  concern,  and  made  many  inquiries,  which  were 
presently  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  of  Major  Garth, 
who  was  now  in  waiting  :  "  The  gout  ? "  he  cried  :  "  nay, 
then,  it  is  time  he  should  get  a  nurse  ;  and,  indeed,  I 
hear  he  has  one  in  view."  Colonel  Gwynn  instantly  turned 
short,  with  a  very  significant  smile  of  triumph,  towards  me, 
that  seemed  to  confirm  this  assertion,  while  it  exulted  in 
his  own  prediction  at  Cheltenham. 

The  following    morning,  while    I  was   alone  with   my 


160  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1789. 

Eoyal  mistress,  she  mentioned  Mr.  Fairly  for  the  first  time 
since  we  left  Weymouth.  It  was  to  express  much  dis- 
pleasure against  him  :  he  had  misled  Lord  Aylesbury  about 
the  ensuing  drawing-room,  by  affirming  there  would  be 
none  this  month. 

After  saying  how  wrong  this  was,  and  hearing  me  ven- 
ture to  answer  I  could  not  doubt  but  he  must  have  had 
some  reason,  which,  if  known,  might  account  for  his  mis- 
take, she  suddenly,  and  with  some  severity  of  accent,  said, 
"  He  will  not  come  here  !  For  some  reason  or  other  he 
does  not  choose  it !  He  cannot  bear  to  come  ! "  How 
was  I  amazed  !  and  silenced  pretty  effectually  ! 

She  then  added,  "  He  has  set  his  heart  against  coming. 
I  know  he  has  been  in  town  some  considerable  time,  but 
he  has  desired  it  may  not  be  told  here.  I  know,  too,  that 
when  he  has  been  met  in  the  streets,  he  has  called  out, 
'  For  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  are  going  to  Windsor,  do  not  say 
you  have  seen  me.'  " 

Wednesday,  November  18th.  — We  were  to  go  to  town  : 
but  while  I  was  taking  my  hasty  breakfast  Miss  Planta 
flew  into  the  room,  eagerly  exclaiming,  "  Have  you  heard 
the  news  ? "  I  saw,  instantly,  by  her  eyes  and  manner, 
what  she  meant,  and  therefore  answered, 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Mr.  Fairly  is  going  to  be  married  !  I  resolved  I  would 
tell  you." 

"  I  heai'd  the  rumor,"  I  replied,  "  the  other  day,  from 
Colonel  Gwynn." 

"  Oh,  it  is  true  ! "  she  cried  ;  "  he  has  written  to  ask 
leave  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  say  so  ! "  I  gave  her 
my  ready  promise,  for  I  believed  not  a  syllable  of  the  mat- 
ter ;  but  I  would  not  tell  her  that. 

Friday,  November  20tii.  —  Some  business  sent  me  to 
speak  with  Miss  Planta  before  our  journey  back  to  Wind- 


1789.]  .  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  161 

sor.  When  it  was  executed  and  I  was  coming  away,  she 
called  out,  "  Oh  !  a  propos  —  it 's  all  declared,  and  the  Prin- 
cesses wished  Miss  Fiizilier  joy  yesterday  in  the  drawing- 
room.  She  looked  remarkably  well ;  hut  said  Mr.  Fairly 
had  still  a  little  gout,  and  could  not  appear." 

Now  first  my  belief  followed  assertion ;  —  but  it  was 
only  because  it  was  inevitable,  since  the  Princesses  could 
not  have  proceeded  so  far  without  certainty. 

We  returned  to  Windsor  as  usual,  and  there  I  was  just 
as  usual,  obliged  to  finish  every  evening  with  picquet !  — 
and  to  pass  all  and  every  afternoon,  from  dinner  to  mid- 
night, in  picquet  company. 

Saturday,  November  28th.  —  The  Queen,  after  a  very 
long  airing,  came  in  to  dress,  and  summoned  me  imme- 
diately ;  and  in  two  minutes  the  Princess  Eoyal  entered, 
and  said  something  in  German,  and  then  added,  "  And 
Mr.  Fairly,  ma'am,  begs  he  may  see  you  a  moment  now,  if 
possible." 

This  is  his  first  coming  to  the  house  since  her  Royal 
Higliness's  birthday,  just  two  months  ago.  "  I  am  very 
sorry,"  was  answered  coolly,  "  but  I  am  going  to  dress." 

"  He  won't  keep  you  a  moment,  mamma,  only  he  wants 
to  get  on  to  St.  Leonards  to  dinner."  Miss  Fuzilier  is  now 
there.  "  Well,  then,"  she  answered,  "  I  '11  slip  on  ray  pow- 
dering-gown,  and  see  him." 

I  found,  however,  they  had  already  met,  probably  in  the 
passage,  for  the  Queen  added,  "  How  melancholy  he  looks  ! 
—  does  not  he.  Princess  Royal  ? "  "  Yes,  indeed,  mam- 
ma ! "  —  They  then  again  talked  in  German. 

The  Princess  then  went  to  call  him  ;  and  I  hastened 
into  the  next  room,  with  some  caps  just  then  inspecting. 

Mr.  Turbulent  again  dined  with  us,  and  said,  "I  find 
Mr.  Fairly  is  here  to-day ;  when  is  he  to  be  married  ? " 
VOL.  n.  11 


162  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  .  [1789. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  reproved  him  for  talking  of  "  soch 
things  : "  she  holds  it  petty  treason  to  speak  of  it,  as  they 
are  both  in  oftice  about  the  Court ;  though  she  confessed 
it  would  be  in  a  fortnight.  At  tea,  when  the  gentlemen  — 
General  Bude,  Majors  Price  and  Garth,  and  Mr.  Willis  — 
appeared,  she  said,  "  Where  be  Mr.  Fairly  ? "  They  all 
exclaimed,  "  Is  he  here  ? "  "  Oh,  certain,  if  he  ben't 
gone ! " 

I  then  said  he  had  gone  on  to  St.  Leonards.  They  all 
expressed  the  utmost  surprise  that  he  should  come,  and 
go,  and  see  none  of  them.  When  they  retired,  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg exclaimed,  "  For  what  not  stay  one  night  ?  For 
what  not  go  to  the  gentlemen  ?  —  It  looks  like  when  he 
been  ashamed.  —  Oh,  fie !  I  don't  not  like  soch  ting. 
And  for  what  always  say  coutraire  ?  —  always  say  to 
everybody  he  won't  not  have  her  !  —  There  might  be  some- 
ting  wrong  in  all  that  —  it  looks,  not  well."  I  saw  a  strong 
desire  to  have  me  enter  into  the  merits  of  the  case ;  but  I 
constantly  answer  to  these  exclamations,  that  these  sort  of 
situations  are  regarded  in  the  world  as  licensing  denials 
first,  and  truancy  from  all  others  afterwards. 

December.  —  Most  gratefully  I  met  the  mild  anniver- 
saries of  this  month,  which  was  so  dreadful  in  the  year 
'88.  The  King's  health  seems  perfect,  and  there  is  a  cool- 
ness and  composure  in  his  manner  that  promise  its  perma- 
nency —  God  be  praised  ! 

But  let  me  now,  to  enliven  you  a  little,  introduce  to  you 
a  new  acquaintance,  self-made,  that  I  meet  at  the  chapel, 
and  who  always  sits  next  me  when  there  is  room,  —  Mrs. 
J ,  wife  to  the  Bishop  of  K :  and  before  the  ser- 
vice begins,  she  enters  into  small  talk,  with  a  pretty  tol- 
erable degree  of  frankness,  not  much  repressed  by  scruples 
of  delicacy. 

Take  a  specimen.     She  opened,  the  other  morning,  upon 


1789.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  163 

my  situation  and  occupation,  and  made  the  most  plump 
inquiries  into  its  particulars,  with  a  sort  of  hearty  good 
humor  that  removed  all  impertinence,  whatever  it  left  of 
inelegance:  —  and  then  began  her  comments. 

"  Well ;  the  Queen,  to  be  sure,  is  a  great  deal  better 
dressed  than  she  used  to  be ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  really 
think  it  is  but  an  odd  thing  for  you  !  —  Dear  !  I  think  it 's 
something  so  out  of  the  way  for  you  !  —  I  can't  think  how 
you  set  about  it.  It  must  have  been  very  droll  to  you  at 
first.  A  great  deal  of  honor,  to  be  sure,  to  serve  a  Queen, 
and  all  that ;  but  I  dare  say  a  lady's-maid  could  do  it  bet- 
ter ;  though  to  be  called  about  a  Queen,  as  I  say,  is  a  great 
deal  of  honor :  but,  for  my  part,  I  should  not  like  it ;  be- 
cause to  be  always  obliged  to  go  to  a  person,  whether  one 
was  in  the  humor  or  not,  and  to  get  up  in  a  morning,  if 
one  was  never  so  sleepy !  —  dear !  it  must  be  a  mighty 
hurry-skurry  life !  you  don't  look  at  all  fit  for  it,  to  judge 
by  appearances,  for  all  its  great  honor,  and  all  that."  Ls 
not  this  a  fit  bishop's  wife  ?  is  not  here  primitive  candor 
and  veracity  ?  I  laughed  most  heartily,  —  and  we  have  now 
commenced  acquaintance  for  these  occasional  meetings. 

If  this  honest  dame  does  not  think  me  fit  for  this  part 
of  my  business,  there  is  another  person,  Madlle.  Mont- 
moulin,  who,  with  equal  simplicity,  expresses  her  idea  of 
my  unfitness  for  another  part.  —  "  How  you  bear  it,"  she 
cries,  "  living  with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  !  —  I  like  it  better 
living  in  prison  !  —  'pon  m'honneur,  I  prefer  it  bread  and 
water ;  I  think  her  so  cross  never  was.  If  I  you,  I  won't 
bear  it  —  poor  Miss  Burney  !  —  I  so  sorry  !  —  'pon  m'hon- 
neur, I  think  to  you  oftens  !  —  you  so  confined,  you  won't 
have  no  pleasures  !  —  "  Miss  Gomme,  less  plaintive,  but 
more  solemn,  declared  the  other  day,  "  I  am  sure  you  must 
go  to  heaven  for  living  this  life  !  "  —  So,  at  least,  you  see, 
though  in  a  court,  I  am  not  an  object  of  envy. 


164  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 


CHAPTER   III. 

1790—1791. 

January.  —  Mr.  Fairly  was  married  the  6th.  —  I  must 
wish  happiness  to  smile  on  that  day,  and  all  its  anniver- 
saries ;  it  gave  a  happiness  to  me  unequalled,  for  it  was 
the  birthday  of  my  Susanna ! 

One  evening,  about  this  time,  Mr.  Fisher,  now  Doctor, 
drank  tea  with  us  at  Windsor,  and  gave  me  an  account  of 
Mr.  Fairly's  marriage  that  much  amazed  me.  He  had 
been  called  upon  to  perform  the  ceremony.  It  was  by 
special  license,  and  at  the  house  of  Sir  E F . 

So  religious,  so  strict  in  all  ceremonies,  even,  of  religion, 
as  he  always  appeared,  his  marrying  out  of  a  church  was 
to  me  very  unexpected.  Dr.  Fisher  was  himself  surprised 
when  called  upon,  and  said  he  supposed  it  must  be  to 
please  the  lady. 

Nothing,  he  owned,  could  be  less  formal  or  solemn  than 
the  whole.  Lady  C,  Mrs.  and  Miss  S.,  and  her  father  and 
brother  and  sister,  were  present.  They  all  dined  together 
at  the  usual  hour,  and  then  the  ladies,  as  usual,  retired. 
Some  time  after,  the  clerk  was  sent  for,  and  then,  with  the 
gentlemen,  joined  the  ladies,  who  were  in  the  drawing- 
room,  seated  on  sofas,  just  as  at  any  other  time.  Dr. 
Fisher  says  he  is  not  sure  they  were  working,  but  the  air 
of  common  employment  was  such,  that  he  rather  thinks  it, 
and  everything  of  that  sort  was  spread  about,  as  on  any 
common  day  —  work-boxes,  netting-cases,  &c.,  &c. ! 

Mr,  Fairly  then  asked  Dr.  Fisher  what  they  were  to  do  ? 


1790.] 


OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  1C5 


He  answered,  he  could  not  tell ;  for  he  had  never  married 
anybody  in  a  room  before.  Upon  this,  they  agreed  to  move 
a  table  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  the  ladies  still  sitting 
quietly,  and  then  put  on  it  candles  and  a  prayer-book. 
Dr.  Fisher  says  he  hopes  it  was  not  a  card-table,  and  rather 
believes  it  was  only  a  Pembroke  work-table.  The  lady 
and  Sir  R.  then  came  forward,  and  Dr.  Fisher  read  the  ser- 
vice. So  this,  methinks,  seems  the  way  to  make  all  things 
easy  ! 

Yet  —  with  so  little  solemnity  —  without  even  a  room 
prepared  and  empty  —  to  go  through  a  business  of  such 
portentous  seriousness!  'T  is  truly  amazing  from  a  man 
who  seemed  to  delight  so  much  in  religious  regulations 
and  observances.  Dr.  Fisher  himself  was  dissatisfied,  and 
wondered  at  his  compliance,  though  he  attributed  the  plan 
to  the  lady. 

The  bride  behaved  extremely  well,  he  said,  and  was  all 
smile  and  complacency.  He  had  never  seen  her  to  such 
advantage,  or  in  such  soft  looks  before ;  and  perfectly 
serene,  though  her  sister  was  so  much  moved  as  to  go  into 
hysterics.  Afterwards,  at  seven  o'clock,  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  set  off  for  a  friend's  house  in  Hertfordshire  by 
themselves,  attended  by  servants  with  white  favors.  The 
rest  of  the  party,  father,  sister,  and  priest  included,  went 
to  the  play,  which  happened  to  be  Benedict. 

I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  Queen's  birthday,  but  that  I 
had  a  most  beautiful  trimming  worked  me  for  it  by  Miss 
Cambridge,  who  half  fatigued  herself  to  death,  for  the  kind 
pleasure  that  I  should  have  my  decorations  from  her  hands. 
If  in  some  points  my  lot  has  been  unenviable,  what  a  con- 
stant solace,  what  sweet  and  soft  amends  do  I  find  and  feel 
in  the  almost  unexampled  union  of  kindness  and  excellence 
in  my  chosen  friends  ! 


i6G  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

The  day  after  the  birthday  produced  a  curious  scene. 
To  soften  off,  by  the  air,  a  violent  headache,  I  determined 
upon  walking  to  Chelsea  to  see  my  dear  father.  I  knew  I 
should  thus  avoid  numerous  visitors  of  the  household,  who 
might  pay  their  devoirs  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  I  missed 
my  errand,  and  speedily  returned,  and  found  many  cards 
from  bedchamber-women  and  maids  of  honor  ;  and,  while 
still  reading  them,  I  was  honored  with  a  call  from  the 
Bishop  of  Salisbury ;  and  in  two  minutes  my  father  came 
himself. 

A  pleasant  conversation  w^as  commencing,  when  Columb 
opened  the  door,  and  said,  "  Colonel  Fairly  begs  leave  to 
ask  you  how  you  do."  He  had  been  married  but  a  week 
before  he  came  into  the  midst  of  all  the  Court  bustle,  which 
he  had  regularly  attended  ever  since  ! 

It  was  a  good  while  before  the  door  opened  again,  and  I 
heard  a  buzz  of  voices  in  the  passage ;  but  when  it  was 
thrown  open,  there  appeared  —  the  bride  herself!  —  and 
alone  !  She  looked  quite  brilliant  in  smiles  and  spirits.  I 
never  saw  a  countenance  so  enlivened.  I  really  believe 
she  has  long  cherished  a  passionate  regard  for  Mr.  Fairly, 
and  brightens  now  from  its  prosperity.  I  received  her 
with  all  the  attention  in  my  power,  immediately  wishing 
her  joy :  she  accepted  it  with  a  thousand  dimples,  and  I 
seated  her  on  the  sofa,  and  myself  by  her  side.  Nobody 
followed;  and  I  left  the  Bishop  to  my  father,  while  we 
entered  into  conversation,  upon  the  birthday,  her  new 
situation  in  being  exempt  from  its  fatigues,  and  other  mat- 
ters of  the  time  beinsj. 

I  apologized  to  Mrs.  Fairly  for  my  inability  to  return 
the  honor  of  her  visit,  but  readily  undertook  to  inform 
Her  Majesty  of  her  inquiries,  which  she  earnestly  begged 
from  me. 

Tuesday,  February   16th.  — Mr.   Hastings's   trial  re- 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.      •  167 

commenced;  and  Her  Majesty  graciously  presented  me 
with  tickets  for  Mr.  Francis,  Charlotte,  and  myself.  She 
acknowledged  a  very  great  curiosity  to  know  whether  my 
old  friends  amongst  the  managers  would  renew  their  inter- 
course with  a  Court  friend,  or  include  me  in  the  distaste 
conceived  against  herself,  and  drop  their  visits.  I  had  not 
once  been  to  the  trial  the  preceding  year,  nor  seen  any  of 
the  set  since  the  King's  illness. 

We  were  three  hours  before  they  entered,  all  spent  in  a 
harmony  of  converse  and  communication  I  never  for  three 
hours  following  can  have  elsewhere  :  no  summons  impend- 
ing—  no  fear  of  accidental  delay  drawing  off  attention  to 
ofificial  solicitude. 

At  the  stated  time  they  entered  in  the  usual  form,  Mr. 
Burke  first.  I  felt  so  grieved  a  resentment  of  his  late  con- 
duct, that  I  was  glad  to  turn  away  from  his  countenance. 
I  looked  elsewhere  during  the  whole  procession,  and  their 
subsequent  arrangement,  that  I  might  leave  totally  to 
themselves  and  their  consciences  whether  to  notice  a  friend 
from  Court  or  not.  Their  consciences  said  not.  No  one 
came ;  I  only  heard  through  Charlotte  that  Mr.  Wyndham 
was  of  the  set. 

Mr.  Anstruther  spoke,  and  all  the  others  took  gentle 
naps  !     I  don't  believe  he  found  it  out. 

When  all  was  concluded,  I  saw  one  of  them  ascending 
towards  our  seats :  and  presently  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Burke.  I  wished  myself  many  miles  off!  —  'tis  so  painful 
to  see  with  utter  disapprobation  those  faces  we  have  met 
with  joy  and  pleasure !  He  came  to  speak  to  some  rela- 
tions of  Mr.  Anstruther ;  I  was  next  them,  and,  when 
recovered  from  my  first  repugnance,  I  thought  it  better 
to  turn  round,  not  to  seem  leading  the  way  myself  to 
any  breach.  I  met  his  eyes  immediately,  and  curtseyed. 
He  only  said,  "  Oh  !  is  it  you  ? "  —  then  asked  how  I  did. 


168  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

said  something  iii  praise  of  Mr.  Anstrutlier,  partly  to  his 
friends  and  partly  to  me  —  heard  from  7ne  no  reply  —  and 
hurried  away,  coldly,  and  with  a  look  dissatisfied  and  un- 
cordial.  I  was  much  concerned ;  and  we  came  away  soon 
alter. 

Here  is  an  impromptu,  said  to  have  been  written  by  Mr. 
Hastings  during  Mr.  Grey's  speech,  which  was  a  panegyric 
on  Mr.  Philip  Francis  :  — 

"  It  hurts  me  not,  that  Grej',  as  Burke's  assessor, 
Proclaims  me  Tyrant,  Robber,  and  Oppressor, 

Tho'  for  abuse  alone  meant : 
For  when  he  call'd  himself  the  bosom  friend, 
The  Friend  of  Philip  Francis,  —  I  contend 

He  made  me  full  atonement." 

I  was  called  upon,  on  my  return,  to  relate  the  day's 
business.  Heavy  and  lame  was  the  relation ;  but  their 
Majesties  were  curious,  and  nothing  better  suited  truth. 

My  dearest  readers  know  that  tliis  month  I  went  to  meet 
my  own  assembly,  as  it  is  honorably  called,  at  Lady  Eothes': 
it  was  smaller  than  at  Mrs.  Ord's,  but  very  pleasant  — 
Mrs.  Moutagu,  Mrs.  Boscawen,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Ord,  the 
Attorney-General,  Sir  Archibald  Macdonald,  his  Lady 
Louisa,  Mr.  Pepys,  Mrs.  Buller,  Lord  Leslie,  and  my  dearest 
father. 

All  our  talk  was  of  France,  the  illustrious  fugitives  now 
here,  and  poor  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  Academic  troubles. 

Monday,  March  1st. — This  morning  we  went  to  Windsor. 

This  month  lost  us  Colonel  Welbred,  wliose  waiting 
never  finishes  but  to  my  regret.  I  had  much  confidential 
talk  with  him  the  last  evening  of  his  residence,  in  which  he 
opened  to  me  the  whole  of  his  situation,  both  with  respect 
to  his  place  and  his  family,  as  far  as  they  are  political.    He 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  169 

gave  me  much  conceru  for  him  in  his  statement,  and  the 
more,  because  all  he  said  confirmed  my  best  opinion  of  his 
honor  and  delicacy.  He  has  the  misfortune  to  have  two 
brothers  who  never  meet  — ■  solely  from  dissension  in  poli- 
tics. He  loves  them  both,  and  with  both  keeps  well ;  but 
while  he  has  a  place  that  devotes  a  fourth  of  the  year  to 
the  King,  his  residence  for  tlie  rest  of  it  is  with  the  brother 
who  is  in  opposition  to  Government.  Not  small  must  be 
the  difficulties  of  such  circumstances,  and  his  preferment 
is  probably  checked  by  this  determined  fraternal  amity ; 
though  his  moderation  and  uprightness  secure  him  the 
esteem,  and  force  the  good  word,  of  both  parties,  as  well  as 
of  both  brothers. 

Much  injustice,  however,  has  I  believe  accrued  to  him 
from  this  mild  conduct,  which  is  not  calculated  for  advan- 
tage in  a  station  that  demands  decisive  vigor,  though  in 
private  or  retired  life  it  makes  the  happiness  and  peace  of 
all  around.  He  grew  so  engaged,  and  I  was  so  much  in- 
terested for  him,  in  the  course  of  this  explication,  that, 
when  called  away  to  cards,  he  said  he  would  not  make  me 
his  final  bow,  but  see  me  again  the  next  morning.  I  set 
off",  however,  by  sudden  commands,  so  much  earlier  than 
usual,  that  I  saw  him  no  more ;  nor  probably  may  meet 
him  again  till  his  waiting  next  year. 

In  one  of  our  Windsor  excursions  at  this  time,  while  I 
was  in  Her  Majesty's  dressing-room,  with  only  Mr.  De 
Luc  present,  she  suddenly  said,  "  Prepare  yourself,  Miss 
Burney,  with  all  your  spirits,  for  to-night  you  must  be 
reader." 

She  then  added  that  she  recollected  what  she  had  been 
told  by  my  honored  Mrs.  Delany,  of  my  reading  Shakes- 
peare to  her,  and  was  desirous  that  I  should  read  a  play  to 
herself  and  the  Princesses ;  and  she  had  lately  heard  from 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  "  nobody  could  do   it  better  when  I 


170  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

would."  I  assured  Her  Majesty  it  was  rather  when  I  could, 
as  any  reading  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  had  heard  must  wholly 
have  been  better  or  worse  according  to  my  spirits,  as  she 
had  justly  seemed  to  suggest. 

The  moment  coffee  was  over  the  Princess  Elizabeth  came 
for  me.  I  found  Her  Majesty  knotting,  the  Princess  Eoyal 
drawing,  Princess  Augusta  spinning,  and  Lady  Courtown  I 
believe  in  the  same  employment,  but  I  saw  none  of  them 
perfectly  well. 

"  Come,  Miss  Burney,"  cried  the  Queen,  "  how  are  your 
spirits  ?  —  How  is  your  voice  ? " 

"  She  says,  ma'am,"  cried  the  kind  Princess  Elizabeth, 
"she  shall  do  her  best."  This  had  been  said  in  attending 
Her  Royal  Higlmess  back.  I  could  only  confirm  it,  and 
that  cheerfully  —  to  hide  fearfully.  I  had  not  the  advan- 
tage of  choosing  my  play,  nor  do  I  know  what  would  have 
been  my  decision  had  it  fallen  to  my  lot.  Her  Majesty' 
had  just  begun  Colman's  works,  and  "  Polly  Honeycomb  " 
was  to  open  my  campaign. 

"  I  think,"  cried  the  Queen  most  graciously,  "  Miss 
Burney  will  read  the  better  for  drawing  a  chair  and  sitting 
down." 

"  0  yes,  mamma  !  I  dare  say  so  !  "  cried  Princess  Augusta 
and  Princess  Elizabeth,  both  in  a  moment.  The  Queen 
then  told  me  to  draw  my  chair  close  to  her  side.  I  made 
no  scruples.  Heaven  knows  I  needed  not  the  addition  of 
standing !  but  most  glad  I  felt  in  being  placed  thus  near, 
as  it  saved  a  constant  painful  effort  of  loud  reading. 

"  Lady  Courtown,"  cried  the  Queen,  "  you  had  better 
draw  nearer,  for  Miss  Burney  has  the  misfortune  of  reading 
rather  low  at  first." 

Nothing  could  be  more  amiable  than  this  opening. 
Accordingly,  I  did,  as  I  had  promised,  my  best ;  and,  in- 
different as  that  was,  it  would  rather  have  surprised  you, 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  171 

all  things  considered,  that  it  was  not  yet  worse.  But  I 
exerted  all  the  courage  I  possess,  and,  having  often  read 
to  the  Queen,  I  felt  how  much  it  behoved  me  not  to  let 
her  surmise  I  had  any  greater  awe  to  surmount.  It  is  but 
a  vulgar  performance  ;  and  I  was  obliged  to  omit,  as  well 
as  I  could  at  sight,  several  circumstances  very  unpleasant 
for  reading,  and  ill  enough  fitted  for  such  hearers.  It  went 
off  pretty  flat.  Nobody  is  to  comment,  nobody  is  to  inter- 
rupt ;  and  even  between  one  act  and  another  not  a 
moment's  pause  is  expected  to  be  made. 

I  had  been  already  informed  of  this  etiquette  by  Mr. 
Turbulent  and  Miss  Planta  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  not  only 
oppressive  to  the  reader,  but  loses  to  the  hearers  so  much 
spirit  and  satisfaction,  that  I  determined  to  endeavor,  should 
I  again  be  called  upon,  to  introduce  a  little  break  into  this 
tiresome  and  unnatural  profundity  of  respectful  solemnity. 
My  own  embarrassment,  however,  made  it  agree  with  me, 
for  the  present,  uncommonly  well.  Lady  Courtown  never 
uttered  one  single  word  the  whole  time  ;  yet  is  she  one  of 
the  most  loquacious  of  our  establishment:  But  such  is  the 
settled  etiquette. 

The  Queen  has  a  taste  for  conversation,  and  the  Prin- 
cesses a  good-humored  love  for  it,  that  doubles  the  regret 
of  such  an  annihilation  of  all  nature  and  all  pleasantry. 
But  what  will  not  prejudice  and  education  inculcate  ? 
They  have  been  brought  up  to  annex  silence  to  respect  and 
decorum :  to  talk,  therefore,  unhid,  or  to  differ  from  any 
given  opinion,  even  when  called  upon,  are  regarded  as  high 
improprieties,  if  not  presumptions.  They  none  of  them  do 
justice  to  their  own  minds,  while  they  enforce  this  subjec- 
tion upon  the  minds  of  others.  I  had  not  experienced  it 
before  ;  for  when  reading  alone  with  the  Queen,  or  listening 
to  her  reading  to  me,  I  have  always  frankly  spoken  almost 
whatever  has  occurred  to  me.     But  there  I  had  no  other 


172  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

examples  before  me,  and  therefore  I  might  inoffensively  be 
guided  by  myself ;  and  Her  Majesty's  continuance  of  the 
same  honor  has  shown  no  disapprobation  of  my  proceed- 
ing. But  here  it  was  not  easy  to  make  any  decision  for 
myself;  to  have  done  what  Lady  Courtown  forbore  doing 
would  have  been  undoubtedly  a  liberty. 

So  we  all  behaved  alike  ;  and  easily  can  I  now  con- 
ceive the  disappointment  and  mortification  of  poor  Mr. 
Garrick  when  he  read  "  Lethe  "  to  a  Eoyal  audience.  Its 
tameness  must  have  tamed  him,  and  I  doubt  not  he  never 
acquitted  himself  so  ill. 

The  next  evening  I  had  the  same  summons  ;  but  "  The 
English  Merchant "  was  the  play,  which  did  far  better.  It 
is  an  elegant  and  serious  piece,  which  I  read  with  far 
greater  ease,  and  into  which  they  all  entered  with  far 
greater  interest. 

This  is  all  I  have  been  able  to  recollect  of  March  in 
which  my  dearest  readers  might  not  themselves  be  writers. 
Chiefly  I  rejoice  they  witnessed  the  long- wished,  the  long- 
dreaded  interview  with  my  formerly  most  dearly-loved 
Mrs.  Thrale  —  not  writing  it  saves  me  much  pang.  ^ 

April.  —  I  have  involuntarily  let  this  month  creep 
along  unrecorded  till  this  Tuesday  the  20th.  I  could  not 
muster  courage  for  a  journal ;  but  now,  to  avoid  any  future 
long  arrears,  I  determined  to  put  down  its  poor  shallow 
memorials. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  the  4th  of  April,  when   I  left  my 

1  "  1790,  March  18th.  —I  met  Miss  Burney  at  an  assembly  last  night 
—  't  is  six  years  since  I  had  seen  her  :  she  appeared  most  fondly  rejoiced, 
in  good  time  !  And  Mrs.  Locke,  at  whose  house  we  stumbled  on  each 
other,  pretended  that  she  had  such  a  regard  for  me,  &c.  I  answered  with 
ease  and  coldness,  but  in  exceeding  good  humor :  and  we  talked  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  his  Majesty's  illness  and  recovery  —  and  all  ended, 
as  it  should  do,  with  perfect  indifference."  —  Extract  from  Mrs.  Thrale' s 
Journal. 


1790.1  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  173 

beloved  Susan  at  St.  James's,  I  left  with  her  all  spirit  for 
any  voluntary  employment,  and  it  occurred  to  me  I  could 
best  while  away  the  leisure  allowed  me  by  returning  to  my 
long-forgotten  tragedy.  This  I  have  done,  in  those  mo- 
ments as  yet  given  to  my  Journal,  and  it  is  well  I  had  so 
sad  a  resource,  since  any  merrier  I  must  have  aimed  at  in 
vain. 

It  was  a  year  and  four  months  since  I  had  looked  at  or 
thought  of  it.  I  found  nothing  but  unconnected  speeches, 
and  hints,  and  ideas,  though  enough  in  quantity,  perhaps,  for 
a  whole  play.  I  have  now  begun  planning  and  methodizing, 
and  have  written  three  or  four  regular  scenes.  I  mention 
all  these  particulars  of  my  progress,  in  answer  to  certain 
queries  in  the  comments  of  my  Susan  and  Fredy,  both  of 
old  date. 

Another  reading  took  place,  and  much  more  comforta- 
bly ;  it  was  to  the  Queen  and  Princesses,  without  any 
lady-in-waiting.  The  Queen,  as  before,  condescended  to 
order  me  to  sit  close  to  her  side  ;  and  as  I  had  no  model 
before  me,  I  scrupled  much  less  to  follow  the  bent  of  my 
own  ideas  by  small  occasional  comments.  And  these  were 
of  use  both  to  body  and  mind  ;  they  rested  the  lungs  from 
one  invariable  exertion,  as  much  as  they  saved  the  mind 
from  one  strain  of  attention. 

Our  play  was  "The  Man  of  Business,"  a  very  good 
comedy,  but  too  local  for  long  life.  And  another  of  Col- 
man's  which  I  read  afterwards  has  the  same  defect.  Half 
the  follies  and  peculiarities  it  satirizes  are  Avholly  at 
an  end  and  forgotten.  Humor  springing  from  mere 
dress,  or  habits,  or  phraseology,  is  quickly  obsolete  ;  when 
it  sinks  deeper,  and  dives  into  character,  it  may  live 
for  ever. 

To  myself  I  read  Mrs.  Piozzi's  "  Travels."  The  "  Travels" 
are  just  like  herself,  abounding  in  sallies  of  genius. 


174  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

Tuesday,  April  27th.  —  I  had  the  happiness  of  my 
dearest  Fredy's  society  in  Westminster  Hall  —  if  happiness 
and  that  place  may  be  named  together. 

The  day  was  mixed ;  evidence  and  Mr.  Anstruther 
weighing  it  down,  and  i\Ir.  Burke  speaking  from  time  to 
time,  and  lighting  it  up.  Oh,  were  his  purpose  worthy 
his  talents,  what  an  effect  would  his  oratory  produce  !  I 
always  hear  liim  with  so  much  concern,  I  can  scarce  re- 
joice even  in  being  kept  awake  by  him. 

The  day  was  nearly  passed,  and  I  was  eating  a  biscuit 
to  prevent  an  absolute  doze  while  Mr.  Anstruther  was  talk- 
ing, when,  raising  myself  from  a  listening  bend,  I  turned 
to  the  left,  and  perceived  Mr.  Wyndham,  who  had  quietly 
placed  himself  by  my  side  without  speaking.  My  sur- 
prise was  so  great,  and  so  totally  had  I  given  up  all  idea  of 
renewing  our  conferences,  that  I  could  scarce  refrain  ex- 
pressing it.  Probably  it  was  visible  enough,  for  he  said, 
as  if  apologizing  for  coming  up,  that  so  to  do  was  the  only 
regale  their  toils  allowed  them. 

He  then  regretted  that  it  was  a  stupid  day,  and,  with  all 
his  old  civility  about  me  and  my  time,  declared  he  was 
always  sorry  to  see  me  there  when  nothing  worth  atten- 
tion was  going  forward. 

This  soon  brought  us  round  to  our  former  intimacy  of 
converse ;  and,  the  moment  I  was  able,  I  ventured  at  my 
usual  inquiry  about  his  own  speaking,  and  if  it  would  soon 
take  place.  "  No,"  he  answered,  with  a  look  of  great 
pleasure,  "  I  shall  now  not  speak  at  all  —  I  liave  cleared 
myself  from  that  task,  and  never  with  such  satisfaction  did 
I  get  rid  of  any ! "  Amazed,  yet  internally  glad,  I  haz- 
arded some  further  inquiry  into  the  reason  of  this  change 
of  plan.  They  were  drawing,  he  said,  to  a  conclusion,  and 
the  particular  charge  which  he  had  engaged  himself  to 
open    was    relinquished.      "I    have,  therefore,"  he   cried. 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   d'aRBLAY.  175 

"washed  ray  hands  of  making  a  speech,  yet  satisfied  my 
conscience,  my  honor,  my  promises,  and  my  intentions ; 
for  I  have  declined  undertaking  anything  new,  and  no 
claim,  therefore,  remains  upon  me." 

"  Well,"  quoth  I,  "  I  am  at  a  loss  whether  to  be  glad  or 
sorry."  He  comprehended  instantly  :  glad  for  Mr.  Hastings, 
or  sorry  for  not  hearing  him.  He  laughed,  but  said  some- 
thing a  little  reproachful,  upon  my  continued  interest 
for  that  gentleman.  I  would  not  pretend  it  was  dimin- 
ished ;  I  determined  he  should  find  me  as  frank  as 
heretofore,  and  abscond,  or  abide,  as  his  nerves  stood  the 
firmness. 

"  You  are  never,  then,"  (I  said  afterwards)  "to  speak  here  ?" 

"  Once,"  he  answered,  "  I  said  a  few  words  —  " 

"  Oh  when  ? "  I  cried  :  "  I  am  very  sorry  I  did  not  know 
it,  and  hear  you  —  as  you  did  speak  ! "  "  Oh  ! "  cried  he, 
laughing,  "  I  do  not  fear  this  flattery  now,  as  I  shall  speak 
no  more  ! " 

"  But  what,"  cried  I,  "  was  the  occasion  that  drew  you 
forth  ? " 

"  Nothing  very  material ;  but  I  saw  Burke  run  hard, 
and  I  wished  to  help  him."  "  That  was  just,"  cried  I, 
"  what  I  should  have  expected  from  you  —  and  just  what 
I  have  not  been  able  not  to  honor,  on  some  other  occa- 
sions, even  where  I  have  most  blamed  the  matter  that  has 
drawn  forth  the  assistance." 

This  was  going  pretty  far  :  —  he  could  not  but  instantly 
feel  I  meant  the  Eegency  discussions.  He  neither  made 
me  any  answer,  nor  turned  his  head,  even  obliquely,  my 
way.  I  was  not  sorry,  however.  'T  is  always  best  to  be 
sincere.  Finding  him  quite  silent,  to  soften  matters  as 
well  as  I  could  with  honesty,  I  began  an  ^loge  of  Mr. 
Burke,  both  warm  and  true,  as  far  as  regards  his  wonderful 
abilities.     But  he  soon  distinguished  the  rigorous  precision 


176  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

with  which,  involuntarily,  I  praised  the  powers,  without 
adverting  to  their  use. 

Suddenly  then,  and  with  a  look  of  extreme  keenness,  he 
turned  his  eyes  upon  me,  and  exclaimed,  "  Yes ;  and  he  has 
very  highly,  also,  the  faculty  of  being  right !  "  I  would  the 
friendship  that  dictated  this  assertion  were  as  unwarped  as 
it  is  animated. 

I  could  not  help  saying,  rather  faintly,  "  Has  he  ?  "  Not 
faintly  he  answered.  "  He  has  !  —  but  not  the  world  alone, 
even  his  friends  are  apt  to  misjudge  him.  What  he  enters 
upon,  however,  with  earnestness,  you  will  commonly  find 
turn  out  as  he  represents  it." 

His  genius,  his  mental  faculties,  and  the  natural  good- 
ness of  his  heart,  I  then  praised  as  warmly  as  Mr.  Wynd- 
hara  could  have  praised  them  himself;  but  the  subject  ran 
me  aground  a  second  time,  as,  quite  undesignedly,  I  con- 
cluded my  panegyric  with  declaring  that  I  found  it  impos- 
sible not  to  admire — nay,  love  him  —  through  all  his 
wrong.  Finding  another  total  silence  and  averted  head,  I 
started  something  more  general  upon  the  trial.  His  open- 
ness then  returned,  with  all  its  customary  vivacity,  and 
he  expressed  himself  extremely  irritated  upon  various 
matters  which  had  been  carried  against  the  managers  by 
the  judges.  "  But,  Mr.  Wyndham  !  "  exclaimed  I ;  "  the 
JTidges  !  —  is  it  possible  you  can  enter  into  such  a  notion 
as  to  suppose  Mr.  Hastings  capable  of  bribing  them  ? " 
"  Oh,  for  capable,"  cried  he,  "  I  don't  know  !  —  "  "  Well, 
leave  that  word  out,  and  suppose  him  even  willing  —  can 
you  imagine  all  the  judges  and  all  the  lords  —  for  they 
must  concur  —  disposed  to  be  bribed  ?  "  "  No ;  but  I  see 
them  all  determined  to  acquit  Mr.  Hastings."  "  Deter- 
mined ?  —  nay,  that  indeed  is  doing  him  very  little  honor." 
"  Oh,  for  honor  !  —  if  he  is  acquitted  —  "  He  stopped  — 
as  if   that  were  sufficient.     I  ventured  to  ask  why  the 


1790.]  OF   MADAME  D'AKBLAY.  177 

judges  and  the  lords  should  make  such  a  determination. 
"  From  the  general  knavery  and  villany  of  mankind,"  was 
his  hard  answer ;  "  which  always  wishes  to  abet  successful 
guilt." 

"  Well,"  cried  I,  shaking  my  head,  "  you  have  not,  1 
see,  relinquished  your  speech  from  having  nothing  to  say. 
But  I  am  glad  you  have  relinquished  it,  for  I  have  always 
been  most  afraid  of  you ;  and  the  reason  is,  those  who 
know  how  to  hold  back  will  not  for  nothing  come  for- 
ward. There  is  one  down  there,  who,  if  he  knew  how 
ever  to  hold  back,  would  be  great  indeed  ! "  He  could 
not  deny  this,  but  would,  not  affirm  it.  Poor  Mr.  Burke ! 
• — so  near  to  being  wholly  right,  while  yet  wholly 
wrong  ! 

When  Mr.  Burke  mounted  the  rostrum,  Mr.  Wyndham 
stopped  short,  saying,  "  I  won't  interrupt  you ; "  and,  in  a 
moment,  glided  back  to  the  manager's  box,  where  he  stood 
behind  Mr.  Burke,  evidently  at  hand  to  assist  in  any  diffi- 
culty. His  affection  for  him  seems  to  amount  to  fondness. 
This  is  not  for  me  to  wonder  at.  Who  was  so  captivated 
as  myself  by  that  extraordinary  man,  till  he  would  no 
longer  suffer  me  to  reverence  the  talents  I  must  still  ever 
admire  ? 

Sunday,  May  2nd.  —  This  morning,  in  my  way  to  church, 
just  as  I  anived  at  the  iron  gate  of  our  courtyard,  a  well- 
known  voice  called  out,  "  Ah,  there's  Miss  Burney  1 " 
I  started,  and  looked  round  —  and  saw  —  Mrs.  Piozzi.  T 
hastened  up  to  her ;  she  met  my  held-out  hand  with  both 
hers  ;  Mr.  Piozzi  and  Cecilia  were  with  her  —  all  smiling 
and  good-humored.  "You  are  going,"  she  cried,  "  to  church  ? 
—  so  am  I.  I  must  run  first  to  the  inn  :  I  suppose  one 
may  sit  —  anywhere  one  pleases  ? " 

"  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  but  you  must  be  quick,  or  you  will  sit 

VOL.  II.  12 


178  DIARY   AND   LETTEKS  [1790. 

nowhere,  there  will  be  such  a  throng."  This  was  all ;  — 
she  hurried  on  —  so  did  I. 

I  received  exceeding  great  satisfaction  in  this  little  and 
unexpected  meeting.  She  had  been  upon  the  Terrace,  and 
was  going  to  change  her  hat ;  and  haste  on  both  sides  pre- 
vented awkwardness  on  either. 

Yet  I  saw  she  had  taken  in  good  part  my  concluding 
hand  presentation  at  my  dear  Mr.  Locke's :  she  met  me  no 
more  with  that  jierU  of  defiance  ;  it  was  not  —  nor  can  it 
ever  be  —  with  her  old  cordiality,  but  it  was  with  some 
degree  of  pleasure,  and  that  species  of  readiness  which 
evinces  a  consciousness  of  meeting  with  a  good  reception. 

Thursday,  May  6th.  —  This  being  the  last  Pantheon,  I 
put  in  my  long-intended  claim  ;  and  it  was  greatly  facili- 
tated by  the  circumstance  of  a  new  singer,  Madame  Benda, 
making  her  first  appearance.  She  is  just  arrived  from 
Germany,  and  has  been  humbly  recommended  to  the  no- 
tice of  Her  Majesty ;  it  was  on  this  account  my  father 
engaged  her  to  try  her  powers  at  the  Pantheon ;  and  the 
Queen  was  herself  interested  I  should  hear  her  success. 

My  dearest  father  fetched  me  from  the  Queen's  house, 
Esther  and  Marianne  kept  me  places  between  them.  Mar- 
ianne never  looked  so  pretty ;  I  saw  not  a  face  there  I 
thought  equally  lovely.  And,  oh,  how  Pacchierotti  sung ! 
—  HOW  !  —  with  what  exquisite  feeling,  what  penetrating 
pathos  !  —  I  could  almost  have  cried  the  whole  time,  that 
this  one  short  song  was  all  I  should  be  able  to  hear ! 

At  the  beginning  of  the  second  act  I  was  obliged  to  de- 
camp. James,  who  had  just  found  me  out,  was  my  es- 
quire. "  Well,"  he  cried,  in  our  way  to  the  chair,  "  will 
there  be  war  with  Spain  ? "  I  assured  him  I  thought  not. 
"  So  I  am  afraid  ! "  answered  the  true  English  tar.  "  How- 
ever, if  there  is,  I  should  be  glad  of  a  frigate  of  thirty-two 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  179 

guns.  Now,  if  you  ask  for  it,  don't  say  b,  frigate,  and  get 
me  one  of  twenty-eight !  "  Good  Heaven  !  —  poor  inno- 
cent James !  — 

And  just  as  I  reached  the  chair  —  "  But  how  shall  you 
feel,"  he  cried,  "  when  I  ask  you  to  desire  a  guard-ship  for 
me,  in  about  two  years'  time  ? "  I  could  make  no  precise 
answer  to  that !  He  then  added  that  he  intended  comins: 
to  court !  Very  much  frightened,  I  besought  him  first  to 
come  and  drink  tea  with  me  —  which  he  promised. 

In  my  way  home,  as  I  went  ruminating  upon  this  ap- 
parently but  just,  though  really  impracticable,  demand,  I 
weighed  well  certain  thoughts  long  revolving,  and  of  late 
nearly  bursting  forth  ;  and  the  result  was  this  —  to  try  all, 
while  yet  there  is  time  !  Reproach  else  may  aver,  when  too 
late,  greater  courage  would  have  had  greater  success.  This 
idea  settled  my  resolutions,  and  they  all  bent  to  one  point, 
risking  all  risks. 

Monday,  May  10th.  —  This  evening,  by  appointment, 
came  our  good  James  and  his  wife,  and  soon  afterwards,  to 
my  great  pleasure.  Captain  Phillips  joined  us. 

I  take  it,  therefore,  for  granted,  he  will  have  told  all 
that  passed  in  the  business  way.  I  was  very  anxious  to 
gather  more  intelligibly  the  wishes  and  requests  of  poor 
James,  and  to  put  a  stop  to  his  coming  to  court  without 
taking  such  previous  steps  as  are  customary.  I  prevailed, 
and  promised,  in  return,  to  make  known  his  pretensions. 

You  may  believe,  my  dear  friends,  this  promise  was  the 
■  result  of  the  same  wish  of  experiment,  and  sense  of  claim 
upon  me  of  my  family  to  make  it  ivhile  I  may,  that  I  have 
mentioned.  I  did  this  very  evening.  I  did  it  gaily,  and 
in  relating  such  anecdotes  as  were  amusingly  characteristic 
of  a  sailor's  honest  but  singular  notions  of  things  :  yet  I 
have  done  it  completely ;  his  wishes  and  his  claims  are 
now  laid   open  —  Heaven  knows   to  what   effect !      The 


180  DIAEY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

court-scheme  I  have  also  told ;  and  my  Eoyal  mistress 
very  graciously  informed  me,  that  if  presented  by  some 
superior  officer  there  could  be  no  objection ;  but  otherwise, 
unless  he  had  some  promotion,  it  was  not  quite  usual. 

Friday,  May  28th.  —  The  Princess  Augusta  conde- 
scended to  bring  me  a  most  gracious  message  from  the 
King,  desiring  to  know  if  I  wished  to  go  to  Handel's  Com- 
memoration, and  if  I  should  like  the  "  Messiah,"  or  prefer 
any  other  day  ? 

With  my  humble  acknowledgments  for  his  goodness,  I 
fixed  instantly  on  the  "  Messiah ; "  and  the  very  amiable 
Princess  came  smiling  back  to  me,  bringing  me  my  ticket" 
from  the  King. 

This  would  not,  indeed,  much  have  availed  me,  but  that 
I  fortunately  knew  my  dear  father  meant  to  go  to  the 
Abbey.  I  despatched  Columb  to  Chelsea,  and  he  promised 
to  call  for  me  the  next  morning. 

He  was  all  himself ;  all  his  native  self ;  —  kind,  gay, 
open,  and  full  fraught  with  converse. 

Chance  favored  me :  we  found  so  little  room,  that  we 
were  fain  to  accept  two  vacant  places  at  once,  though  they 
separated  us  from  my  uncle,  Mr.  Burney,  and  his  brother 
James,  who  were  all  there,  and  all  meant  to  be  of  the 
same  party. 

I  might  not,  at  another  time,  have  rejoiced  in  this  dis- 
union, but  it  was  now  most  opportune :  it  gave  me  three 
hours'  conference  with  my  dearest  father  —  the  only  con- 
ference of  that  length  I  have  had  in  four  years. 

Fortune  again  was  kind ;  for  my  father  began  relating 
various  anecdotes  of  attacks  made  upon  him  for  procuring 
to  sundry  strangers  some  acquaintance  with  his  daughter, 
particularly  with  the  Duchesse  de  Biron,  and  the  Mesdames 
de  Boufflers ;  to  whom  he  answered,  he  had  no  power ; 
but  was  somewhat  struck  by  a  question  of  Madame  de  B. 


1790.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  181 

in  return,  who  exclaimed,  "  Mais,  monsieur,  est-ce  possible  ! 
Mademoiselle  votre  tille  n'a-t-elle  point  de  vacance  ?  "  ^ 

This  led  to  much  interesting  discussion,  and  to  many 
confessions  and  explanations  on  my  part,  never  made  be- 
fore ;  which  induced  him  to  enter  more  fully  into  the 
whole  of  the  situation,  and  its  circumstances,  than  he  had 
ever  yet  had  the  leisure  or  the  spirits  to  do ;  and  he  re- 
peated sundry  speeches  of  discontent  at  my  seclusion 
from  the  world. 

All  this  encouraged  me  to  much  detail :  I  spoke  my  high 
and  constant  veneration  for  my  Eoyal  mistress,  her  merits, 
her  virtues,  her  condescension,  and  her  even  peculiar  kind- 
ness towards  me.  But  I  owned  the  species  of  life  distaste- 
ful to  me ;  I  was  lost  to  all  private  comfort,  dead  to  all 
domestic  endearment ;  I  was  worn  with  want  of  rest,  and 
fatigued  with  laborious  watchfulness  and  attendance.  My 
time  was  devoted  to  official  duties ;  and  all  that  in  life 
was  dearest  to  me  —  my  friends,  my  chosen  society,  my 
best  affections  —  lived  now  in  my  mind  only  by  recollection, 
and  rested  upon  that  with  nothing  but  bitter  regret.  With 
relations  the  most  deservedly  dear,  with  friends  of  almost 
unequalled  goodness,  I  lived  like  an  orphan  —  like  one  who 
had  no  natural  ties,  and  must  make  her  way  as  she  could 
by  those  that  were  factitious.  Melancholy  was  the  exist- 
ence where  happiness  was  excluded,  though  not  a  complaint 
could  be  made  !  where  the  illustrious  personages  who  were 
served  possessed  almost  all  human  excellence,  —  yet  where 
those  who  were  their  servants,  though  treated  with  the 
most  benevolent  condescension,  could  never,  in  any  part  of 
the  live-long  day,  command  liberty,  or  social  intercourse,  or 
repose ! 

The  silence  of  my  dearest  father  now  silencing  myself,  I 
turned  to  look  at  him ;  but  how  was  I  struck  to  see  his 

^  ' '  But  is  it  possible,  sir,  that  your  daughter  has  no  vacations  '! " 


182  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

honored  head  bowed  down  almost  into  his  bosom  with 
dejection  and  discomfort!  —  We  were  both  perfectly  still  a 
few  moments  ;  but  when  he  raised  his  head  I  could  hardly 
keep  my  seat,  to  see  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  !  —  "I  have 
long,  "  he  cried,  "  been  uneasy,  though  I  have  not  spoken  ; 
.  .  .  but  ...  if  you  wish  to  resign  —  my  house,  my  purse, 
my  arms,  shall  be  open  to  receive  you  back  ! " 

The  emotion  of  my  whole  heart  at  this  speech  —  this 
sweet,  this  generous  speech  —  Oh,  my  dear  friends,  I  need 
not  say  it ! 

We  were  mutually  forced  to  break  up  our  conference. 
I  could  only  instantly  accept  his  paternal  offer,  and  tell 
him  it  was  my  guardian  angel,  it  was  Providence  in  its 
own  benignity,  that  inspired  him  with  such  goodness.  I 
begged  him  to  love  the  day  in  which  he  had  given  me  such 
comfort,  and  assured  him  it  would  rest  upon  my  heart  with 
grateful  pleasure  till  it  ceased  to  beat. 

He  promised  to  drink  tea  with  me  before  I  left  town, 
and  settle  all  our  proceedings.  I  acknowledged  my  inten- 
tion to  have  ventured  to  solicit  this  very  permission  of 
resigning.  —  "  But  I, "  cried  he,  smiling  with  the  sweetest 
kindness,  "  have  spoken  first  myself.  " 

What  a  joy  to  me,  what  a  relief,  this  very  circumstance  ! 
it  will  always  lighten  any  evil  that  may,  unhappily,  follow 
this  proposed  step. 


The  next  morning  I  went  again  to  the  trial  of  poor  Mr. 
Hastings  :  Mrs.  Ord  received  from  me  my  companion  ticket, 
kindly  giving  up  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's  box  to  indulge 
me  with  her  company. 

But  I  must  mention  an  extraordinary  circumstance  that 
happened  in  the  last  week.  I  received  in  a  parcel  —  No,  I 
will  recite  it  you  as  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Wyndham,  who,  fortu- 


1790.]  OF    MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  183 

nately,  saw  and  came  up  to  me  —  fortunately,  I  say,  as 
the  business  of  the  day  was  very  unedifying,  and  as  Mrs. 
Ord  much  wished  to  hear  some  of  his  conversation. 

He  inquired  kindly  about  James  and  his  affairs,  and  if 

.he  had  yet  a  ship ;  and,  to  let  him  see  a  person  might  reside 

in  a  Court,  and  yet  have  no  undue  influence,  I  related  his 

proceedings  with  Lord  Chatham,  and  his  laconic  letter  and 

interview.     The  first  running  thus :  — 

"  My  Lord,  —  I  should  be  glad  of  an  audience  ;  if  your 
Lordship  will  be  so  good  to  appoint  a  time,  I  will  wait 
upon  you.     I  am,  my  Lord,  your  humble  servant, 

"  James  Burney.  " 

"  And  pray, "  quoth  I  to  James,  when  he  told  me  this, 
"  did  you  not  say  the  honor  of  an  audience  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  he,  "  I  was  civil  enough  without  that ; 
I  said,  If  you  will  be  so  good  —  that  was  very  civil  —  and 
honor  is  quite  left  off  now. " 

How  comic !  to  run  away  proudly  from  forms  and  eti- 
quettes, and  then  pretend  it  was  only  to  be  more  in  the 
last  mode. 

Mr.  Wyndham  enjoyed  this  characteristic  trait  very 
much  ;  and  he  likes  James  so  well  that  he  deserved  it,  as 
well  as  the  interview  which  ensued. 

"  How  do  you  do.  Captain  Burney  ? " 

"  My  Lord,  I  should  be  glad  to  be  employed. " 

"  You  must  be  sensible.  Captain  Burney,  we  have  many 
claimants  just  now,  and  more  than  it  is  possible  to  satisfy 
immediately." 

"  I  am  very  sensible  of  that,  my  Lord  ;  hut,  at  the  same 
time,  I  wish  to  let  your  Lordship  know  what  I  should  like 
to  have  —  a  frigate  of  thirty- two  guns." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  know  what  you  wish,  sir."     He  took 


184  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

out  his  pocket-book,  made  a  memorandum,  and  wished 
James  a  good  morning.  Whether  or  not  it  occurred  to 
Mr.  Wyndham,  while  I  told  this,  that  there  seemed  a 
shorter  way  to  Lord  Chatham,  and  one  more  in  his  own 
style,  I  know  not :  he  was  too  delicate  to  let  such  a  hint 
escape,  and  I  would  not  for  the  world  intrust  him  with  my 
applications  and  disappointments. 

Queen's  Lodge,  Windsor,  August,  1790. 

I  was  ill  the  whole  of  this  month,  though  not  once  witli 
sufficient  seriousness  for  confinement,  yet  with  a  difficulty 
of  proceeding  as  usual  so  great,  that  the  day  was  a  burthen 
—  or  rather,  myself  a  burthen  to  the  day.  A  languor  so 
prodigious,  with  so  great  a  failure  of  strength  and  spirit, 
augmented  almost  hourly,  that  I  several  times  thought  I 
must  be  compelled  to  excuse  my  constancy  of  attendance ; 
but  there  was  no  one  to  take  my  place,  except  Miss  Planta, 
whose  health  is  insufficient  for  her  own,  and  Mile.  Mont- 
moulin,  to  whom  such  an  addition  of  duty  is  almost  dis- 
traction. I  could  not,  therefore,  but  work  on  while  to 
work  at  any  rate  able. 

I  drew  up,  however,  my  memorial,  or  rather,  showed 
it  now  to  my  dearest  father.  He  so  much  approved  it, 
that  he  told  me  he  would  not  have  a  comma  of  it  altered. 
I  will  copy  it  for  you.  It  is  as  respectful  and  as  grateful 
as  I  had  words  at  command  to  make  it,  and  expressive  of 
strong  devotion  and  attachment ;  but  it  fairly  and  firmly 
states  that  my  strength  is  inadequate  to  the  duties  of  my 
charge,  and,  therefore,  that  I  humbly  crave  permission  to  re- 
sign it  and  retire  into  domestic  life.  It  was  written  in  my 
father's  name  and  my  own.  I  had  now  that  dear  father's 
desire  to  present  it  upon  the  first  auspicious  moment :  and 
0  !  with  what  a  mixture  of  impatience  and  dread  un- 
speakable did  I  look  forward  to  such  an  opportunity ! 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  185 

The  war  was  still  undecided  :  still  I  inclined  to  wait  its 
issue,  as  I  perpetually  brought  in  my  wishes  for  poor 
James,  though  without  avail.  Major  Garth,  our  last 
equerry,  was  raised  to  a  high  post  in  the  West  Indies,  and 
the  rank  of  Colonel.  I  recommended  James  to  his  notice 
and  regard  if  they  met ;  and  a  promise  most  readily  and 
pleasantly  made  to  seek  him  out  and  present  hira  to  his 
brother,  the  General,  if  they  ever  served  in  the  same  dis- 
trict, was  all,  I  think,  that  my  court  residence  obtained  for 
my  marine  department  of  interest ! 

Meanwhile,  one  morning  at  Kew,  Miss  Cambridge  was 
so  much  alarmed  at  my  declining  state  of  health  that  she 
would  take  no  denial  to  my  seeing  and  consulting  Mr. 
Dundas.  He  ordered  me  the  bark,  and  it  strengthened 
me  so  much  for  awhile,  that  I  was  too  much  recruited 
for  presenting  my  sick  memorial,  which  I  therefore  cast 
aside. 

Mrs.  Ord  spent  near  a  week  at  Windsor  in  the  beginning 
of  this  month.  I  was  ill,  however,  the  whole  time,  and 
suffered  so  much  from  my  official  duties,  that  my  good 
Mrs.  Ord,  day  after  day,  evidently  lost  something  of  her 
partiality  to  my  situation,  from  witnessing  fatigues  of  which 
she  had  formed  no  idea,  and  difficulties  and  disagreeabili- 
ties  in  carrying  on  a  week's  intercourse,  even  with  so 
respectable  a  friend,  which  I  believe  she  had  thought  im- 
possible. Two  or  three  times  she  burst  forth  into  ejacula- 
tions strongly  expressive  of  fears  for  my  health  and  sorrow 
at  its  exhausting  calls.  I  could  not  but  be  relieved  in  my 
own  mind  that  this  much-valued,  most  maternal  friend 
should  thus  receive  a  conviction  beyond  all  powers  of  rep- 
resentation, that  my  place  was  of  a  sort  to  require  a  strength 
foreign  to  my  make. 

She  left  me  in  great  and  visible  uneasiness,  and  wrote  to 
me  continually  for  bills  of  health.     I  never  yet  so  much 


186  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

loved  her,  for,  kind  as  I  have  always  found  her,  I  never  yet 
saw  in  her  so  much  true  tenderness. 

In  this  month,  also,  I  first  heard  of  the  zealous  exertions 
and  chivalrous  intentions  of  Mr.  Wyndham.  Charles  told 
me  they  never  met  without  his  denouncing  the  whole 
thunders  of  his  oratory  against  the  confinement  by  which 
he  thought  my  health  injured;  with  his  opinion  that  it 
must  be  counteracted  speedily  by  elopement,  no  other  way 
seeming  effectual.  But  with  Charlotte  he  came  more  home 
to  the  point.  Their  vicinity  in  Norfolk  occasions  their 
meeting,  though  very  seldom  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Francis, 
who  resents  his  prosecution  of  Mr.  Hastings,  and  never 
returns  his  visits ;  but  at  assemblies  at  Aylsham  and  at 
Lord  Buckingham's  dinners  they  are  certain  of  now  and 
then  encountering. 

This  summer,  when  Mr.  Wyndham  went  to  Felbrig,  his 
Norfolk  seat,  they  soon  met  at  an  assembly,  and  he  im- 
mediately opened  upon  his  disapprobation  of  her  sister's 
monastic  life,  adding,  "  I  do  not  venture  to  speak  thus 
freely  upon  this  subject  to  everybody,  but  to  you  I  think 
I  may ;  at  least,  I  hope  it." 

Poor  dear  Charlotte  was  too  full-hearted  for  disguise,  and 
they  presently  entered  into  a  confidential  cabal,  that  made 
her  quite  disturbed  and  provoked  when  hurried  away.  From 
this  time,  whenever  they  met,  they  were  pretty  much  of 
a  mind.  "  I  cannot  see  you,"  he  always  cried,  "  without 
recurring  to  that  painful  subject  —  your  sister's  situation." 
He  then  broke  forth  in  an  animated  offer  of  his  own  ser- 
vices to  induce  Dr.  Burney  to  finish  such  a  captivity,  if  he 
could  flatter  himself  he  might  have  any  influence.  Char- 
lotte eagerly  promised  him  the  greatest,  and  he  gave  her 
his  promise  to  go  to  work.  What  a  noble  Quixote  !  How 
much  I  feel  obliged  to  him !  How  happy,  when  I  may 
thank  him ! 


1790.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  187 

He  then  pondered  upon  ways  and  means.  He  had  al- 
ready sounded  my  father :  "  but  it  is  resohition,"  he  added, 
"not  inclination,  Dr.  Burney  wants."  After  some  further 
reflection,  he  then  fixed  upon  a  plan  :  "  I  will  set  the  Lite- 
rary Club  upon  him  ! "  he  cried  :  "  Miss  Burney  has  some 
very  true  admirers  there,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  all 
eagerly  assist.  We  will  present  him  a  petition  —  an 
address." 

Much  more  passed :  Mr.  Wyndham  expressed  a  degree 
of  interest  and  kindness  so  cordial,  that  Charlotte  says  she 
quite  longed  to  shake  hands  with  him ;  and  if  any  success 
ever  accrues,  she  certainly  must  do  it.  Frightened,  how- 
ever, after  she  returned  home,  she  feared  our  dearest  father 
might  unfairly  be  overpowered,  and  frankly  wrote  him  a 
recital  of  the  whole,  counselling  him  to  see  Mr.  Wyndham 
in  private  before  a  meeting  at  the  Club  could  take  place. 

And  now  for  a  scene  a  little  surprising. 

The  beautiful  chapel  of  St.  George,  repaired  and  finished 
by  the  best  artists  at  an  immense  expense,  which  was  now 
opened  after  a  very  long  shutting  up  for  its  preparations,- 
brought  innumerable  strangers  to  Windsor,  and,  among 
others,  Mr.  Bos  well. 

This  I  heard,  in  my  way  to  the  chapel,  from  Mr.  Tur- 
bulent, who  overtook  me,  and  mentioned  having  met  Mr. 
Boswell  at  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle's  the  evening  before. 
He  proposed  bringing  him  to  call  upon  me;  but  this  I  de-  ■ 
clined,  certain  how  little  satisfaction  would  be  given  here 
by  the  entrance  of  a  man  so  famous  for  compiling  anec- 
dotes. But  yet  I  really  wished  to  see  him  again,  for  old 
.  acquaintance'  sake,  and  unavoidable  amusement  from  his 
oddity  and  good  humor,  as  well  as  respect  for  the  object  of 
his  constant  admiration,  my  revered  Dr.  Johnson.  I  there- 
fore told  Mr.  Turbulent  I  should  be  extremely  glad  to  speak 
with  him  after  the  service  was  over. 


188  DIARY   AND   LETTEES  [1790. 

Accordingly,  at  the  gate  of  the  choir,  Mr.  Turbulent 
brought  him  to  me.  We  saluted  with  mutual  glee  :  his 
comic-serious  face  and  manner  have  lost  nothing  of  their 
wonted  singularity  ;  nor  yet  have  his  mind  and  language, 
as  you  will  soon  confess.  "  I  am  extremely  glad  to  see  you 
indeed,"  he  cried,  "  but  very  sorry  to  see  you  here.  My 
dear  ma'am,  why  do  you  stay  ?  —  it  won't  do,  ma'am  !  you 
must  resign  !  —  we  can  put  up  with  it  no  longer.  I  told 
my  good  liost  the  Bishop  so  last  night ;  we  are  all  grown 
quite  outrageous  !  "  Whether  I  laughed  the  most,  or  stared 
the  most,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say ;  but  I  hurried  away  from 
the  cathedral,  not  to  have  such  treasonable  declarations 
overheard,  for  we  were  surrounded  by  a  multitude.  He 
accompanied  me,  however,  not  losing  one  moment  in  con- 
tinuing his  exhortations : 

"  If  you  do  not  quit,  ma'am,  very  soon,  some  violent 
measures,  I  assure  you,  will  be  taken.  We  shall  address 
Dr.  Burney  in  a  body ;  I  am  ready  to  make  the  harangue 
myself.     We  shall  fall  upon  him  all  at  once." 

I  stopped  him  to  inquire  about  Sir  Joshua ;  he  said  he 
saw  him  very  often,  and  that  his  spirits  were  very  good. 
I  asked  about  Mr.  Burke's  book. 

"  Oh,"  cried  he,  "  it  will  come  out  next  week :  't  is  the 
first  book  in  the  world,  except  my  own,  and  that 's  coming 
out  also  very  soon ;  only  I  want  your  help." 
,     "My  help?" 

"  Yes,  madam ;  you  must  give  me  some  of  your  choice 
little  notes  of  the  Doctor's  ;  we  have  seen  him  long  enough 
upon  stilts;  I  want  to  show  him  in  a  new  light.  Grave 
Sam,  and  great  Sam,  and  solemn  Sam,  and  learned  Sam  — 
all  these  he  has  appeared  over  and  over.  Now  I  want  to 
entwine  a  wreath  of  the  graces  across  his  brow  ;  I  want  to 
show  him  as  gay  Sam,  agreeable  Sam,  pleasant  Sam :  so  you 
must  help  me  with  some  of  his  beautiful  bUlets  to  yourself. 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  189 

I  evaded  this  by  declaring  I  had  not  any  stores  at  hand. 
He  proposed  a  thousand  curious  expedients  to  get  at  them, 
but  I  was  invincible.  Then  I  was  hurrying  on,  lest  I 
should  be  too  late.  He  followed  eagerly,  and  again  ex- 
claimed, "  But,  ma'am,  as  I  tell  you,  this  won't  do  —  you 
must  resign  off-hand !  Why,  I  would  farm  you  out  my- 
self for  double,  treble  the  money  !  I  wish  I  had  the  regu- 
lation of  such  a  farm  —  yet  I  am  no  farmer-general.  But 
I  should  like  to  farm  you,  and  so  I  will  tell  Dr.  Burney. 
I  mean  to  address  him ;  I  have  a  speech  ready  for  the  first 
opportunity." 

He  then  told  me  his  "  Life  of  Dr.  Johnson  "  w^as  nearly 
printed,  and  took  a  proof-sheet  out  of  his  pocket  to  show 
me  ;  with  crowds  passing  and  repassing,  knowing  me  well, 
and  staring  well  at  him  :  for  we  were  now  at  the  iron  rails 
of  the  Queen's  Lodge.  I  stopped ;  I  could  not  ask  him  in : 
I  saw  he  expected  it,  and  was  reduced  to  apologize,  and  tell 
him  I  must  attend  the  Queen  immediately.  He  uttered  again 
stronger  and  stronger  exhortations  for  my  retreat,  accom- 
panied by  expressions  which  I  was  obliged  to  check  in  their 
bud.  But  finding  he  had  no  chance  for  entering,  he  stopped 
me  again  at  the  gate,  and  said  he  would  read  me  a  part  of 
his  work.  There  was  no  refusing  this  ;  and  he  began,  with  a 
little  of  Dr.  Johnson  to  himself.  He  read  it  in  strong  imita- 
tion of  the  Doctor's  manner,  very  well,  and  not  caricature. 
But  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  at  her  window,  a  crowd  was 
gathering  to  stand  round  the  rails,  and  the  King  and 
Queen  and  Eoyal  Family  now  approached  from  the  Terrace. 
I  made  a  rather  quick  apology,  and,  with  a  step  as  quick  as 
my  now  weakened  limbs  have  left  in  my  power,  I  hurried 
to  my  apartment. 

You  may  suppose  I  had  inquiries  enough,  from  all 
around,  of  "  Who  was  the  gentleman  I  was  talking  to  at 
the  rails  ?  "     And  an  injunction  rather  frank  not  to  admit 


190  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1790. 

him  beyond  those  limits.  However,  I  saw  him  again  the 
next  morning,  in  coming  from  early  prayers,  and  he  again 
renewed  his  remonstrances,  and  his  petition  for  my  letters 
of  Dr.  Johnson. 

I  cannot  consent  to  print  private  letters,  even  of  a 
man  so  justly  celebrated,  when  addressed  to  myself: 
no,  I  shall  hold  sacred  those  revered  and  but  too  scarce 
testimonies  of  the  high  honor  his  kindness  conferred 
upon  me.  One  letter  I  have  from  him  that  is  a  mas- 
terpiece of  elegance  and  kindness  united.  'T  was  his 
last. 

November.  —  This  month  will  be  very  brief  of  annals  ; 
I  was  so  ill,  so  unsettled,  so  unhappy  during  every  day, 
that  I  kept  not  a  memorandum. 

All  the  short  benefit  I  had  received  from  the  bark 
was  now  at  an  end :  languor,  feverish  nights,  and  rest- 
less days  were  incessant.  My  memorial  was  always  in 
my  mind ;  my  courage  never  rose  to  bringing  it  from  my 
letter-case.  Yet  the  war  was  over,  the  hope  of  a  sliip  for 
my  brother  demolished,  and  my  health  required  a  change 
of  life. 

The  Queen  was  all  graciousness ;  and  her  favor  and  con- 
fidence and  smiles  redoubled  my  difficulties.  I  saw  she 
had  no  suspicion  but  that  I  was  hers  for  life  ;  and,  unim- 
portant as  I  felt  myself  to  her,  in  any  comparison  with 
those  for  whom  I  quitted  her,  I  yet  knew  not  how  to  give 
her  the  unpleasant  surprise  of  a  resignation  for  which  I  saw 
her  wholly  unprepared. 

It  is  true  my  depression  of  spirits  and  extreme  alteration 
of  person  might  have  operated  as  a  preface ;  for  I  saw  no 
one,  except  my  Royal  mistress  and  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
who  noticed  not  the  change,  or  who  failed  to  pity  and 
question  me  upon  my  health  and  my  fatigues ;  but  as  they 
alone  saw  it  not,  or  mentioned  it  not,  that  afforded  me  no 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  191 

resource.^  And  thus,  with  daily  intention  to  present  my 
petition  and  conchide  this  struggle,  night  always  returned 
with  the  effort  unmade,  and  the  watchful  morning  arose 
fresh  to  new  purposes  that  seemed  only  formed  for  demoli- 
tion. And  the  mouth  expired  as  it  began,  with  a  desire 
the  most  strenuous  of  liberty  and  peace,  combated  by  re- 
luctance unconquerable  to  give  pain,  displeasure,  or  distress 
to  my  very  gracious  lioyal  mistress. 

December.  —  Leaving  a  little  longer  in  the  lurch  the 
late  months,  let  me  endeavor  to  give  to  my  beloved  friends 
some  account  of  this  conclusion  of  the  year  while  yet  in 
being. 

My  loss  of  health  was  now  so  notorious,  that  no  part  of 
the  house  could  wholly  avoid  acknowledging  it ;  yet  was 
the  terrible  picquet  the  catastrophe  of  every  evening, 
though  frequent  pains  in  my  side  forced  me,  three  or  four 
times  in  a  game,  to  creep  to  my  own  room  for  hartshorn 
and  for  rest.  And  so  weak  and  faint  I  was  become,  that  I 
was  compelled  to  put  my  head  out  into  the  air,  at  all 
hours,  and  in  all  weathers,  from  time  to  time,  to  recover 
the  power  of  breathing,  which  seemed  not  seldom  almost 
withdrawn. 

Her  Majesty  was  very  kind  during  this  time,  and  the 
Princesses  interested  themselves  about  me  with  a  sweet- 
ness very  grateful  to  me ;  indeed,  the  whole  household 
showed  compassion  and  regard,  and  a  general  opinion  that 
I  was  falling  into  a  decline  ran  through  the  establishment. 
Miss  Planta  was  particularly  attentive  and  active  to  afford 
me  help  and  advice;  Mdlle.  Montmoulin's  eyes  glistened 

1  "  Had  she  been  a  negro  slave,  a  humane  planter  would  have  excused 
her  from  work.  But  her  Majesty  knew  no  mercy.  Thrice  a  day  the  ac- 
cursed bell  still  rang  ;  the  Queen  was  to  be  dressed  for  the  morning  at 
seven,  and  to  be  dressed  for  the  day  at  noon,  and  to  be  undressed  at  mid- 
night." —  Lord  Macaulay,  Essay  on  ^fadame  d'Arblay. 


192  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

wlieu  we  met ;  Miss  Goldsworthy  declared  she  thought  my 
looks  so  altered  as  scarcely  to  be  known  again ;  Lady  Eliz- 
abeth Waldegrave  enjoined  me  earnestly  to  ask  leave  for 
respite  and  recruit,  lest  the  Queen  should  lose  me  entirely 
by  longer  delay ;  Miss  Gomme  honestly  protested  she 
thought  it  became  a  folly  to  struggle  on  any  longer  against 
strength  and  nature  ;  Mr.  De  Luc  was  so  much  struck  with 
the  change  as  to  tell  the  Queen  herself  that  a  short  and 
complete  retirement  from  attendance  seemed  essential  to 
my  restoration ;  and  even  Mr.  Turbulent  himself  called 
one  day  upon  me,  and  frankly  counselled  me  to  resign  at 
once,  for,  in  my  present  state,  a  life  such  as  that  I  led  was 
enough  to  destroy  me. 

Thus  there  seemed  about  my  little  person  a  universal 
commotion  ;  and  it  spread  much  further,  amongst  those  I 
have  never  or  slightly  mentioned.  You  will  not,  therefore, 
be  surprised  to  hear  that  my  true  and  faithful  friend  Mrs. 
De  Luc  partook  so  largely  in  the  general  alarm  as  to  come 
to  me,  with  her  kind  eyes  overflowing  with  tears,  to  en- 
treat me,  without  the  risk  of  farther  delay,  to  reliuqiiish 
a  situation  of  which  the  fatigue  would  else  prove  fatal 
to  me.  There  seemed,  indeed,  but  one  opinion,  that  res- 
ignation of  place  or  of  life  was  the  only  remaining  alter- 
native. 

There  seemed  now  no  time  to  be  lost ;  when  I  saw  my 
dear  father  he  recommended  to  me  to  be  speedy,  and  ray 
mother  was  very  kind  in  urgency  for  immediate  measures. 
I  could  not,  however,  summon  courage  to  present  my  me- 
morial ;  my  heart  always  failed  me,  from  seeing  the  Queen's 
entire  freedom  from  such  an  expectation  :  for  though  I  was 
frequently  so  ill  in  her  presence  that  I  could  hardly  stand, 
I  saw  she  concluded  me,  while  life  remained,  inevitably 
hers. 

Finding  my  inability  unconquerable,  I  at  length  deter- 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  193 

mined  upon  consulting  Mr.  Francis.  I  wrote  to  Charlotte 
a  faithful  and  minute  account  of  mysdf,  with  all  ray  at- 
tacks —  cough,  pain  in  the  side,  weakness,  sleeplessness, 
&c.  —  at  full  length,  and  begged  Mr.  Francis's  opinion 
how  I  must  proceed.  Very  kindly  he  wrote  directly  to  my 
father,  exhorting  instantaneous  resignation,  as  all  that 
stood  before  me  to  avert  some  dangerous  malady. 

The  dear  Charlotte  at  the  same  time  wrote  to  me  con- 
juring my  prompt  retreat  with  the  most  affecting  earnest- 
ness. 

The  uneasiness  that  preyed  upon  my  spirits  in  a  task  so 
difficult  to  perform  for  myself,  joined  to  my  daily  declen- 
sion in  health,  was  now  so  apparent,  that,  though  I  could 
go  no  farther,  I  paved  the  way  for  an  opening,  by  owning 
to  the  Queen  that  Mr.  Francis  had  been  consulted  upon  my 
health.  The  Queen  now  frequently  inquired  concerning 
his  answer ;  but  as  I  knew  he  had  written  to  my  father,  I 
deferred  giving  the  result  till  I  had  had  a  final  conference 
with  that  dear  parent.  I  told  Her  Majesty  ray  father  would 
show  me  the  letter  when  I  saw  him.  This  I  saw  raised  for 
the  first  time  a  surmise  that  something  was  in  agitation, 
though  I  am  certain  the  suspicion  did  not  exceed  an  ex- 
pectation that  leave  would  be  requested  for  a  .short  absence 
to  recruit. 

My  dearest  father,  all  kindness  and  goodness,  yet  all 
alarm,  thought  time  could  never  be  more  favorable  ;  and 
when  next  I  saw  hini  at  Chelsea,  I  wrote  a  second  memo- 
rial to  enclose  the  original  one. 

With  a  beating  heart,  and  every  pulse  throbbing,  I  re- 
turned thus  armed  to  the  Queen's  house. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  sent  for  me  to  her  room.  I  could 
hardly  articulate  a  word  to  her.  My  agitation  was  so  great 
that  I  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  something  very  awful 
was  impending  in  my  affairs,  and  to  beg  she  would  mal^§ 

VOL.  II.  18 


194  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

no  present  inquiries.  I  had  not  meant  to  employ  her  in 
the  business,  nor  to  name  it  to  her,  but  I  was  too  much 
disturbed  for  concealment  or  evasion.  She  seemed  really- 
sorry,  and  behaved  with  a  humanity  I  had  not  much  reason 
to  expect. 

I  spent  a  terrible  time  till  I  went  to  the  Queen  at  night, 
spiriting  myself  up  for  my  task,  and  yet  finding  apprehen- 
sion gain  ground  every  moment. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  had  already  been  some  time  with 
Her  Majesty  when  I  was  summoned.  I  am  sure  she  had 
already  mentioned  the  little  she  had  gathered.  I  could 
hardly  perform  my  customary  offices  from  excess  of  trepi- 
dation. The  Queen  looked  at  me  with  the  most  inquisi- 
tive solicitude.  When  left  with  her  a  moment  I  tried 
vainly  to  make  an  opening  :  I  could  not.  She  was  too 
much  impressed  herself  by  my  manner  to  wait  long.  She 
soon  inquired  what  answer  had  arrived  from  Mr.  Francis  ? 

That  he  could  not,  I  said,  prescribe  at  a  distance.  T 
hoped  this  would  be  iinderstood,  and  said  no  more.  The 
Queen  looked  much  perplexed,  but  made  no  answer. 

The  next  morning  I  was  half  dead  with  real  illness,  ex- 
cessive nervousness,  and  the  struggle  of  what  I  had  to 
force  myself  to  perform.  The  Queen  again  was  struck 
with  my  appearance,  which  I  believe  indeed  to  have  been 
shocking.  When  I  was  alone  with  her,  she  began  upon 
Mr.  Francis  with  more  inquiry.  I  then  tried  to  articulate 
that  I  had  something  of  deep  consequence  to  myself  to 
lay  before  Her  Majesty ;  but  that  I  was  so  unequal  in  my 
weakened  state  to  speak  it,  that  I  had  ventured  to  commit 
it  to  writing,  and  entreated  permission  to  produce  it.  She 
could  hardly  hear  me,  yet  understood  enough  to  give  im- 
mediate consent. 

I  then  begged  to  know  if  I  might  present  it  myself,  or 
whether  I  should  dve  it  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  195 

"0,  to  me  !  to  me  !  "  she  cried,  with  kind  eagerness.  She 
added,  however,  not  then,  as  she  was  going  to  breakfast. 

This  done  was  ah'eady  some  relief,  terrible  as  was  all 
that  remained  ;  but  I  now  knew  I  mnst  go  on,  and  that 
all  my  fears  and  horrors  were  powerless  to  stop  me. 

This  was  a  drawing-room  day.  I  saw  the  King  at  St. 
James's,  and  he  made  the  most  gracious  inquiries  about 
my  health  :  so  did  each  of  the  Princesses.  I  found  they 
were  now  all  aware  of  its  failure.  The  Queen  proposed  to 
me  to  see  Dr.  Gisburne  :  the  King  seconded  the  proposi- 
tion. There  was  no  refusing ;  yet,  just  now,  it  was  dis- 
tressing to  comply. 

The  next  morning,  Friday,  when  again  I  was  alone  with 
the  Queen,  she  named  the  subject,  and  told  me  she  would 
rather  I  should  give  the  paper  to  the  Schwellenberg,  who 
had  been  lamenting  to  her  my  want  of  confidence  in  her, 
and  saying  I  confided  and  told  everything  to  the  Queen, 
"  I  answered,"  continued  her  jVIajesty,  "  that  you  were 
always  very  good  ;  but  that,  with  regard  to  confiding,  you 
seemed  so  happy  with  all  your  family,  and  to  live  so  well 
together,  that  there  was  nothing  to  say." 

I  now  perceived  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  suspected  some  dis- 
sension at  home  was  the  cause  of  my  depression.  I  was 
sorry  not  to  deliver  my  memorial  to  the  principal  person, 
and  yet  glad  to  have  it  to  do  where  I  felt  so  much  less 
compunction  in  giving  pain. 

I  now  desired  an  audience  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  With 
what  trembling  agitation  did  I  deliver  her  my  paper,  re- 
questing her  to  have  the  goodness  to  lay  it  at  the  feet  of 
the  Queen  before  Her  Majesty  left  town  !  We  were  then  to 
set  out  for  Windsor  before  twelve  o'clock.  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg herself  remained  in  town. 

Here  let  rae  copy  the  memorial. 


196  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

Most  humbly  presented  to  Her  Majesty. 
Madam, — With  tlie  deepest  sense  of  your  Majesty's 
goodness  and  condescension,  amounting  even  to  sweetness 

—  to  kindness  —  who  can  wonder  I  should  never  have 
been  able  to  say  what  I  know  not  how  to  write  —  that  I 
find  my  strength  and  health  unequal  to  my  duty  ? 

Satisfied  that  I  have  been  regularly  spared  and  favored 
by  your  Majesty's  humane  consideration  to  the  utmost,  I 
could  never  bring  myself  to  the  painful  confession  of  my 
secret  disquietude  ;  but  I  have  long  felt  creeping  upon  me 
a  languor,  a  feebleness,  that  makes,  at  times,  the  most  com- 
mon  attendance  a  degree  of  capital  pain  to  me,  and  an 
exertion  that  I  could  scarce  have  made,  but  for  the  revived 
alacrity  with  which  your  Majesty's  constant  graciousuess 
has  inspired  me,  and  would  still,  I  believe,  inspire  me,  even 
to  my  latest  hour,  while  in  your  Majesty's  immediate  pres- 
ence. I  kept  this  to  myself  while  I  thought  it  might 
wear  away  —  or,  or  least,  I  only  communicated  it  to  ob- 
tain some  medical  advice  :  but  the  weakness,  though  it 
comes  only  in  fits,  has  of  late  so  much  increased,  that  I 
have  hardly  known  how,  many  days,  to  keep  myself  about 

—  or  to  rise  in  the  morning,  or  to  stay  up  at  night. 

At  length,  however,  as  my  constitution  itself  seems 
slowly,  yet  surely,  giving  way,  my  father  became  alarmed. 

1  must  not  enter  here,  upon  his  mortification  and  disap- 
pointment :  the  health  and  preservation  of  his  daughter 
could  alone  be  more  precious  to  him  than  your  Majesty's 
protection. 

With  my  own  feelings  upon  the  subject  it  would  ill 
become  me  to  detain  your  Majesty,  and  the  less,  as  I  am 
fully  sensible  my  place,  in  point  of  its  real  business,  may 
easily  be  far  better  supplied ;  —  in  point  of  sincere  devo- 
tion to  your  Majesty,  I  do  not  so  readily  yield.  I  can 
only,  therefore,  most  humbly  entreat  that  your  Majesty 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  197 

will  deign  to  accept  from  my  father  and  myself  the  most 
dutiful  acknowledgments  for  the  uniform  benignity  so 
graciously  shown  to  me  during  the  whole  of  my  attend- 
ance. My  father  had  originally  been  apprehensive  of  my 
inability,  with  regard  to  strength,  for  sustaining  any  but 
the  indulgence  of  a  domestic  life  :  but  your  Majesty's  jus- 
tice and  liberality  will  make  every  allowance  for  the  flat- 
tered feelings  of  a  parent's  heart,  which  could  not  endure, 
untried,  to  relinquish  for  his  daughter  so  high  an  honor  as 
a  personal  office  about  your  Majesty. 

I  dare  not,  Madam,  presume  to  hope  that  your  Maj- 
esty's condescension  will  reach  to  the  smallest  degree  of 
concern  at  parting  with  me ;  but  permit  me,  Madam, 
humbly,  earnestly,  and  fervently,  to  solicit  that  I  may  not 
be  deprived  of  the  mental  benevolence  of  your  Majesty, 
which  so  thankfully  I  have  experienced,  and  so  gratefully 
must  for  ever  remember. 

That  every  blessing,  every  good,  may  light  upon  your 
Majesties  here,  and  await  a  future  and  happier  period  here- 
after, will  be  always  amongst  the  first  prayers  of,  Madam, 
your  Majesty's  ever  devoted,  ever  grateful,  most  attached, 
and  most  dutiful  subject  and  servant, 

Fkances  Bukney. 


With  this,  though  written  so  long  ago,  I  only  wrote  an 
explanatory  note  to  accompany  it,  which  I  will  also  copy: — ■ 

Madam,  —  May  I  yet  humbly  presume  to  entreat  your 
Majesty's  patience  for  a  few  added  lines,  to  say  that  the 
address  which  I  now  most  respectfully  lay  at  your  Maj- 
esty's feet  was  drawn  up  two  months  ago,  when  first  I  felt 
so  extreme  a  weakness  as  to  render  the  smallest  exertion  a 
fatigue  ?  While  I  waited,  however,  for  firmness  to  present 
it,  I  took  the  bark,  and  found  mvself,  for  some  time,  so 


198  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

much  amended,  that  I  put  it  aside,  and  my  father,  per- 
ceiving me  better,  lost  his  anxious  uneasiness  for  my  try- 
ing a  new  mode  of  life.  But  the  good  effect  has,  of  late, 
so  wholly  failed,  that  an  entire  change  of  air  and  manner 
of  living  are  strongly  recommended  as  the  best  chance  for 
restoring  my  shattered  health.  We  hold  it,  therefore,  a 
point  of  the  grateful  duty  we  owe  to  your  Majesty's  good- 
ness and  graciousness,  to  make  this  melancholy  statement 
at  once,  rather  than  to  stay  till  absolute  incapacity  might 
disable  me  from  offering  one  small  but  sincere  tribute  of 
profound  respect  to  your  Majesty — the  only  one  in  my 
power  —  that  of  continuing  the  high  honor  of  attending 
your  Majesty,  till  your  Majesty's  own  choice,  time,  and 
convenience  nominate  a  successor. 


Mrs.  Schwellenberg  took  it,  and  promised  me  her  ser- 
vices, but  desired  to  know  its  contents.  I  begged  vainly 
to  be  excused  speaking  them.  She  persisted,  and  I  then 
was  compelled  to  own  they  contained  my  resignation. 
How  aghast  she  looked!  —  how  inflamed  with  wrath!  — 
how  petrified  with  astonishment !  It  was  truly  a  dreadful 
moment  to  me.  She  expostulated  on  such  a  step,  as  if  it 
led  to  destruction  :  she  offered  to  save  me  from  it,  as  if  the 
peace  of  my  life  depended  on  averting  it ;  and  she  menaced 
me  with  its  bad  consequences,  as  if  life  itself,  removed  from 
these  walls,  would  become  an  evil. 

I  plainly  recapitulated  the  suffering  state  in  which  I  had 
lived  for  the  last  three  months  :  the  difficulty  with  which 
1  liad  waded  througli  even  the  most  common  fatigues  of 
the  day ;  the  constraint  of  attendance,  however  honorable, 
to  an  invalid ;  and  the  impracticability  of  pursuing  such  a 
life,  when  thus  enfeebled,  with  the  smallest  chance  of  ever 
recovering  the  health  and  strength  which  it  had  demolished. 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   d'aRBLAY.  199 

To  all  tills  she  began  a  vehement  eulogium  on  the  supe- 
rior happiness  and  blessing  of  my  lot,  while  under  such  a 
protection ;  and  angrily  exhorted  me  not  to  forfeit  what  I 
could  never  regain. 

I  then  frankly  begged  her  to  forbear  so  painful  a  discus- 
sion, and  told  her  the  memorial  was  from  my  father  as  well 
as  myself — that  I  had  no  right  or  authority  to  hesitate  in 
delivering  it  —  that  the  Queen  herself  was  prepared  to 
expect  it  —  and  that  I  had  promised  my  father  not  to  go 
again  to  Windsor  till  it  was  presented.  I  entreated  her, 
therefore,  to  have  the  goodness  to  show  it  at  once.  This 
was  unanswerable,  and  she  left  me  with  the  paper  in  her 
hand,  slowly  conveying  it  to  its  place  of  destination. 

Just  as  she  was  gone,  I  was  called  to  Dr.  Gisburne ;  or 
rather,  without  being  called,  I  found  him  in  my  room,  as  I 
returned  to  it. 

Think  if  my  mind,  now,  wanted  not  medicine  the  most ! 
I  told  him,  however,  my  corporeal  complaints ;  and  he  or- 
dered me  opium  and  three  glasses  of  wine  in  the  day,  and 
recommended  rest  to  me,  and  an  application  to  retire  to 
my  friends  for  some  weeks,  as  freedom  from  anxiety  was 
as  necessary  to  my  restoration  as  freedom  from  attendance. 

During  this  consultation  I  was  called  to  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg.  Do  you  think  I  breathed  as  I  went  along  ?  —  No  ! 
She  received  me,  nevertheless,  with  complacency  and 
smiles ;  she  began  a  labored  panegyric  of  her  own  friendly 
zeal  and  goodness,  and  then  said  she  had  a  proposal  to 
make  me,  which  she  considered  as  the  most  fortunate  turn 
my  affairs  could  take,  and  as  a  proof  that  I  should  find 
her  the  best  friend  I  had  in  the  world.  She  then  premised 
that  she  had  shown  the  paper,  —  that  the  Queen  had  read 
it,  and  said  it  was  very  modest,  and  nothing  improper. 
Her  proposal  was,  that  I  should  have  leave  of  absence  for 
six  weeks,  to  go  about  and  change  the  air,  to  Chelsea,  and 


200  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

Norbury  Park,  and  Capitan  Phillips,  and  Mr.  Francis,  and 
Mr.  Cambrick,  which  would  get  me  quite  well ;  and,  during 
that  time,  she  would  engage  Mile.  Montmoulin  to  perform 
my  office. 

I  was  much  disturbed  at  this ;  and  though  rejoiced  and 
relieved  to  understand  that  the  Queen  had  read  my  memo- 
rial without  displeasure,  I  was  grieved  to  see  it  was  not 
regarded  as  final.  I  only  replied  I  would  communicate 
her  plan  to  my  father. 

Soon  after  this  we  set  out  for  Windsor.  Here  the  first 
presenting  myself  before  the  Queen  was  a  task  the  heaviest, 
if  possible,  of  any.  Yet  I  was  ill  enough.  Heaven  knows, 
to  carry  the  apology  of  my  retreat  in  my  countenance. 
However,  it  was  a  terrible  effort  —  I  could  hardly  enter 
her  room.  She  spoke  at  once,  and  with  infinite  softness, 
asking  me  how  I  did  after  my  journey.  "  Not  well,  in- 
deed," I  simply  answered.  "  But  better  ? "  she  cried  :  "  are 
you  not  a  little  better  ? "  I  only  shook  my  head ;  I  be- 
lieve the  rest  of  my  frame  shook  without  my  aid. 

"What!  not  a  little?  —  not  a  little  bit  better?"  she 
cried,  in  the  most  soothing  voice. 

"  To-day,  ma'am,"  I  said,  "  I  did  indeed  not  expect  to  be 
better."  I  then  muttered  something,  indistinctly  enough, 
of  the  pain  I  had  suffered  in  what  I  had  done :  she  opened, 
however,  upon  another  subject  immediately,  and  no  more 
was  said  upon  this.  But  she  was  kind,  and  sweet,  and 
gentle,  and  all  consideration  with  respect  to  my  attend- 
ance. 

I  wrote  the  proposal  to  my  poor  father.  I  received,  by 
return  of  post,  the  most  truly  tender  letter  he  ever  wrote 
nie.  He  returns  thanks  for  the  clemency  with  which  my 
melancholy  memorial  has  been  received,  and  is  truly  sensi- 
ble of  the  high  honor  shown  me  in  the  new  proposition ; 
but  he  sees  my  health  so  impaired,  my  strength  so  decayed. 


1790.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  201 

my  whole  frame  so  nearly  demolished,  that  he  apprehends 
anything  short  of  a  permanent  resignation,  that  would  en- 
sure lasting  rest  and  recruit,  might  prove  fatal.  He  quotes 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Francis,  containing  his  opinion  that  I 
must  even  be  speedy  in  my  retiring,  or  risk  the  utmost 
danger ;  and  he  finishes  a  letter  filled  with  gratitude 
towards  the  Queen,  and  affection  to  his  daughter,  with  his 
decisive  opinion  that  I  cannot  go  on,  and  his  prayers  and 
blessings  on  my  retreat. 

The  term  "speedy,"  in  Mr.  Francis's  opinion,  deterred 
me  from  producing  this  letter,  as  it  seemed  indelicate  and 
unfair  to  hurry  the  Queen,  after  offering  her  the  fullest 
time.  I  therefore  waited  till  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  came  to 
Windsor  before  I  made  any  report  of  my  answer.  A  scene 
almost  horrible  ensued,  when  I  told  Cerbera  the  offer  was 
declined.  She  was  too  much  enraged  for  disguise,  and 
uttered  the  most  furious  expressions  of  indignant  con- 
tempt at  our  proceedings.  I  am  sure  she  would  gladly 
have  confined  us  botli  in  the  Bastile,  had  England  such  a 
misery,  as  a  fit  place  to  bring  us  to  ourselves,  from  a  daring 
so  outrageous  against  imperial  wishes.  For  the  rest  of  this 
gloomy  month  and  gloomy  year,  a  few  detached  paragraphs 
must  suffice. 

Mr.  Turbulent,  as  I  have  told  you,  won  now  all  my  good 
will  by  a  visit  in  this  my  sinking  and  altered  state,  in 
which,  with  very  unaffected  friendliness,  he  counselled  and 
exhorted  me  to  resign  my  office,  in  order  to  secure  my  re- 
covery. He  related  to  me,  also,  his  own  most  affiictinj; 
story  —  his  mortifications,  disappointments,  and  ill-treat- 
ment ;  and  perhaps  my  concern  for  his  injuries  contribu- 
ted to  his  complete  restoration  in  my  good  will. 

Another  confidence  soon  followed,  of  a  sort  far  more 
pleasant:  my  good  friend  'Fon  mhonneur  —  Mile.  Mont- 
moulin  —  informed  me  of  her  engagements  with  M.  d'Es- 


202  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1790. 

p^re-en-Dieii,  and  with  her  hopes  of  his  speedily  coming 
over  to  England  to  claim  her,  and  carry  her  to  his  chateau 
en  Languedoc.  I  sincerely  wish  her  happy,  and  her  pros- 
pects wear  all  promise  of  her  fulfilling  my  wish.  Adieu, 
my  dear  friends ! 

Adieu  —  undear  December  ! 

Adieu  —  and  away  for  ever,  most  painful  1790  ! 


1791,]  OF  MADAME  D'AKBLAY.  203 


CHAPTER   IV. 

From  January,  1791,  to  July,  1791. 

Miss  Burney  to  Br.  Burney. 

January,  1791. 

Most  dear  Sir,  — I  had  no  opportunity  to  put  in  practice 
my  plan  of  the  viontre.  I  found,  by  circumstances,  a  full 
expectation  of  some  conceding  and  relenting  plan  to  follow 
my  Chelsea  visit.  A  blank  disappointment  sat  on  the 
face  I  revere ;  a  sliarper  austerity  on  that  I  shrink  from. 

Comfortless  enough  this  went  on  till  this  morn :  an  in- 
cident then  occurred  that  enabled  me  to  say  I  had  shown 
the  montre  to  you.  —  "  And  how  does  he  like  it  ? "  I  was 
asked,  very  gently.  "  It  made  him,  as  me,  almost  melan- 
choly," was  my  true  answer.  It  was  felt  and  understood 
instantly.  "  But  you  must  not  encourage  melancholy 
thoughts,"  was  very  benignly  spoken.  This  has  revived 
me  —  I  was  drooping ;  and  I  am  not  much  better  in  my 
strength  for  this  suspensive  state !  Yet,  I  trust,  I  am  now 
finally  comprehended,  and  that  we  are  mutually  believed 
to  be  simple  and  single  in  what  is  proposed,  and,  conse- 
quently, steady  and  unalterable. 

Adieu,  dearest  of  dear  padres  •  —  This  is  the  sum  total  of 
all :  the  detail  must  await  our  meeting ;  and  we  do  not  go 
to  town  till  the  day  before  the  birthday.  —  What  a  hurry 
it  will  be ! 

I  was  asked  what  I  had  bought  for  the  birthday  ?  That, 
therefore,  is  of  course   expected  !     Well ;  "  God  's  above 


204  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1791. 

all,"  —  as  you  love  to  quote ;  so  I  must  keep  up  my  spirits 
with  that. 

I  thank  Heaven,  there  was  much  softness  in  the  manner 
of  naming  you  this  morning.  I  see  no  ill-will  mixed  with 
the  reluctance ;  which  much  consoles  me.  I  do  what  is 
possible  to  avoid  all  discussion  ;  I  see  its  danger  still  so 
glaring.  How  could  I  resist,  should  the  Queen  condescend 
to  desire,  to  ask,  that  I  would  yet  try  another  year  ?  —  and 
another  year  would  but  be  uselessly  demolishing  me ;  for 
never  could  I  explain  to  her  that  a  situation  which  un- 
avoidably casts  all  my  leisure  into  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  must  necessarily  be  subversive  of  my 
health,  because  incompatible  with  my  peace,  my  ease, 
my  freedom,  my  spirits,  and  my  affections.  The  Queen  is 
probably  kept  from  any  suspicion  of  the  true  nature  of  the 
case,  by  the  praises  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who,  with  all 
her  asperity  and  persecution,  is  uncommonly  partial  to  my 
society ;  because,  in  order  to  relieve  myself  from  sullen 
gloom,  or  apparent  dependency,  I  generally  make  my  best 
exertions  to  appear  gay  and  chatty ;  for  when  I  can  do 
this,  she  forbears  both  rudeness  and  imperiousness.  She 
then,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  says  to  the  Queen,  as  I 
know  she  does  to  some  others,  "  The  Bernan  bin  reely 
agribble ; "  and  the  Queen,  not  knowing  the  incitement 
that  forces  my  elaborate  and  painful  efforts,  may  suppose  I 
am  lively  at  heart,  wlien  she  hears  I  am  so  in  discourse. 
And  there  is  no  developing  this  without  giving  the  Queen 
the  severest  embarrassment  as  well  as  chagrin.  I  would 
not  turn  informer  for  the  world.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  too, 
with  all  her  faults,  is  heart  and  soul  devoted  to  her  Eoyal 
mistress,  with  the  truest  faith  and  loyalty.  I  hold,  there- 
fore, silence  on  this  subject  to  be  a  sacred  duty.  To  return 
to  you,  my  dearest  padre,  is  the  only  road  that  is  open  for 
my  return  to  strength  and  comfort,  bodily  and  mental.     I 


1791.]  OF   MADAxME   D'ARBLAY.  205 

am  inexpressibly  grateful  to  the  Queen,  but  I  burn  to  be 
delivered  from  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  I  pine  to  be  again 
in  the  arms  of  my  padre.     Most  dear  sir,  your  F.  B. 


You  may  suppose  my  recovery  was  not  much  forwarded 
by  a  ball  given  at  the  Castle  on  Twelfth-day.  The  Queen 
condescended  to  say  that  I  might  go  to  bed,  and  she  would 
content  herself  with  the  wardrobe-woman,  in  considera- 
tion of  my  weak  state ;  but  then  she  exhorted  me  not  to 
make  it  known  to  the  Schwellenberg,  who  would  be  quite 
wretched  at  such  a  thing. 

I  returned  my  proper  thanks,  but  declined  the  proposal, 
so  circumstanced,  assuring  Her  Majesty  that  it  would  make 
me  wretched  to  have  an  indulgence  that  could  produce  an 
impropriety  which  would  make  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  so 
through  my  means. 

And  now  to  enliven  a  little  ;  what  will  you  give  me,  fair 
ladies,  for  a  copy  of  verses  written  between  the  Queen  of 
Great  Britain  and  your  most  small  little  journalist  ? 

The  morning  of  the  ball  the  Queen  sent  for  me,  and  said 
she  had  a  fine  pair  of  old-fashioned  gloves,  white,  with 
stiff  tops  and  a  deep  gold  fringe,  which  she  meant  to  send 
to  her  new  Master  of  the  Horse,  Lord  Harcourt,  who  was 
to  be  at  the  dance.  She  washed  to  convey  them  in  a  copy 
of  verses,  of  which  she  had  composed  three  lines,  but 
could  not  get  on.  She  told  me  her  ideas,  and  I  had  the 
honor  to  help  her  in  the  metre  ;  and  now  I  have  the  honor 
to  copy  them  from  her  own  Eoyal  hand :  — 

To  THE  Earl  of  Harcourt. 
Go,  happy  gloves,  bedeck  Earl  Harcourt's  hand, 
And  let  him  know  they  come  from  fairy-land, 
"Where  ancient  customs  still  retain  their  reign  ; 
To  modernize  them  all  attempts  were  vain. 
Go,  cries  Queen  Mab,  some  noble  owner  seek, 
Who  has  a  proper  taste  for  the  antique. 


206  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

Now,  no  criticizing,  fair  ladies  ;  —  the  assistant  was 
neither  allowed  a  pen  nor  a  moment,  but  called  upon  to 
help  finish,  as  she  might  have  been  to  hand  a  fan.  Tlie 
Earl,  you  may  suppose,  was  sufficiently  enchanted. 

How,  or  by  whom,  or  by  what  instigated,  I  know  not, 
but  I  heard  that  the  newspapers,  this  winter,  had  taken  up 
the  cause  of  my  apparent  seclusion  from  the  world,  and 
dealt  round  comments  and  lamentations  profusely.  I  heard 
of  this  with  much  concern. 

I  have  now  nothing  worth  scribbling  before  my  terrible 
illness,  beginning  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the 
day  preceding  the  Queen's  birthday:  and  of  that,  in  its 
various  adventures,  you,  my  kind  and  tender  nurses,  are 
fully  apprised. 

February.  —  This  month,  my  dearest  Susanna,  has  no 
memorial  but  in  my  heart ;  wdiich  amply  you  supphed  with 
never-dying  materials  for  recollection. 

March.  —  And  here  may  I  gratefully  say  ditto,  ditto, 
ditto,  to  the  above  three  lines,  inserting  the  name  of  my 
kindest,  dearest  Frederica. 

April.  —  Now,  though  I  have  kept  memorandums  since 
the  departure  of  my  dear  Fredy,  they  are  not  chronological, 
and  therefore  you  must  pardon  the  omission  of  my  former 
regularity. 

In  the  course  of  this  month  I  had  two  conferences  with 
my  Royal  mistress  upon  my  resignation,  in  which  I  spoke 
with  all  possible  openness  upon  its  necessity.  She  con- 
descended to  speak  very  honorably  of  my  dear  father  to 
me ;  and,  in  a  long  discourse  upon  my  altered  health  with 
Mrs.  de  Luc,  she  still  further  condescended  to  speak  most 
graciously  of  his  daughter,  saying,  in  particular,  these  strong 
words,  in  answer  to  something  kind  uttered  by  that  good 
friend  in  my  favor  :  "  Oh,  as  to  character,  she  is  what  we 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  207 

call  in  German  '  true  as  gold  ; '  and,  in  point  of  heart,  there 
is  not,  all  the  world  over,  one  better  "  —  and  added  some- 
thing further  upon  sincerity  very  forcibly.  This  makes 
me  very  happy. 

She  deigned,  also,  in  one  of  these  conferences,  to  consult 
with  me  openly  upon  my  successor,  stating  her  difficulties, 
and  making  me  enumerate  various  requisites.  It  would 
be  dangerous,  she  said,  to  build  upon  meeting  in  England 
with  one  who  would  be  discreet  in  point  of  keeping  off" 
friends  and  acquaintances  from  frequenting  the  palace; 
and  she  graciously  implied  much  commendation  of  my 
discretion,  in  her  statement  of  what  she  feared  from  a  new 
person. 

May  7th.  —  As  no  notice  whatever  was  taken,  all  this 
time,  of  my  successor,  or  my  retirement,  after  very  great 
harass  of  suspense,  and  sundry  attempts  to  conquer  it,  I 
had  at  length  again  a  conference  with  my  Koyal  mistress. 
She  was  evidently  displeased  at  again  being  called  upon, 
but  I  took  the  courage  to  openly  remind  her  that  the  birth- 
day was  her  Majesty's  own  time,  and  that  my  father  con- 
ceived it  to  be  the  period  of  my  attendance  by  her  especial 
appointment.  And  this  was  a  truth  which  flashed  its  own 
conviction  on  her  recollection.  She  paused,  and  then,  as- 
sentingly,  said,  "  Certainly."  I  then  added,  that  as,  after 
the  birthday,  their  Majesties,  went  to  Windsor,  and  the 
early  prayers  began  immediately,  I  must  needs  confess  I 
felt  myself  wholly  unequal  to  encountering  the  fatigue  of 
rising  for  them  in  my  present  weakened  state.  She  was 
now  very  gracious  again,  conscious  all  this  was  fair  and 
true.  She  told  me  her  own  embarrassments  concerning  tlie 
successor,  spoke  confidentially  of  her  reasons  for  not  en- 
gaging an  Englishwoman,  and  acknowledged  a  person  was 
fixed  upon,  though  something  yet  remained  unarranged. 
She  gave  me,  however,,  to  understand  that  all  would  be 


208  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1791. 

expedited  :  and  foreign  letters  were  despatched,  I  know, 
immediately. 

This  painful  task  over,  of  thus  frequently  reminding  my 
Eoyal  mistress  that  my  services  were  ending,  I  grew  easier. 
She  renewed,  in  a  short  time,  all  her  old  confidence  and 
social  condescension,  and  appeared  to  treat  me  with  no 
other  alteration  than  a  visible  regTet  that  I  sliould  quit  her 
—  shown  rather  than  avowed,  or  much  indeed  it  would 
have  distressed  me. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  now  invariable  in  kindness  ;  but 
with  regard  to  my  servants,  I  could  obtain  no  other  satis- 
faction than  that  they  must  each  have  a  month's  wages,  as 
her  Majesty  would  not  consent  to  making  my  resignation 
known.  William,  she  told  me,  might  probably  become  the 
footman  of  my  successor :  poor  little  Goter  has  little 
chance  I  and  I  fear  it  will  be  a  real  tragedy  when  she 
knows  her  doom.  She  now  improves  daily,  and  I  am  quite 
sorry  for  her. 

From  Sunday,  May  8th,  to  May  15th.  —  I  have  again 
been  very  unwell  —  low,  faint,  and  feeble.  The  sweet 
Princess  Elizabeth  has  taken  an  animated  interest  about 
me ;  I  have  been  prescribed  for  by  Mrs.  de  Luc,  and  her 
Eoyal  Highness  has  insisted  on  my  performance  of  injunc- 
tions. Miss  Planta  has  also  been  extremely  friendly  and 
assisting. 

From  Sunday,  May  15th,  to  Sunday,  May  22nd.  —  The 
trial  of  the  poor  persecuted  Mr.  Hastings  being  now  again 
debating  and  arranging  for  continuance,  all  our  house,  I 
found,  expected  me  now  to  come  forth,  and  my  Royal 
mistress  and  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  thought  I  should  find  it 
irresistible.  Indeed  it  nearly  was  so,  from  my  anxious  in- 
terest in  the  approaching  defence ;  but  when  I  considered 
the  rumors  likely  to  be  raised  after  my  retreat,  by  those 
terrifying  watchers  of  court  transactions  who  inform  the 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  209 

public  of  their  conjectures,  I  dreaded  the  probable  assertion 
that  I  must  needs  be  disgusted  or  discontented,  for  health 
could  not  be  the  true  motive  of  my  resignation,  since  I  was 
in  public  just  before  it  took  place.  I  feared,  too,  that  even 
those  who  promoted  the  enterprise  might  reproach  me  with 
my  ability  to  do  what  I  wished.  These  considerations  de- 
termined me  to  run  no  voluntary  risks  ;  especially  as  I 
should  so  ill  know  how  to  parry  Mr.  Wyndham,  should  he 
now  attack  me  upon  a  subject  concerning  which  he  merits 
thanks  so  nobly,  that  I  am  satisfied  my  next  interview  with 
him  must  draw  them  forth  from  me.  Justice,  satisfaction 
in  his  exertions,  and  gratitude  for  their  spirited  willingness, 
all  call  upon  me  to  give  him  that  poor  return.  The  danger 
of  it,  however,  now,  is  too  great  to  be  tried,  if  avoidable ; 
and  I  had  far  rather  avoid  seeing  him  than  either  gratify 
myself  by  expressing  my  sense  of  his  kindness,  or  unjustly 
withhold  from  him  what  I  think  of  it. 

These  considerations  determined  me  upon  relinquishing 
all  public  places,  and  all  private  visits,  for  the  present. 

The  trial,  however,  was  delayed,  and  the  Handelian  com- 
memoration came  on.  My  beloved  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke 
will  have  told  my  Susan  my  difficulties  in  this  business, 
and  I  "vvill  now  tell  all  three  how  they  ended. 

The  Queen,  unexpectedly,  having  given  me  a  ticket,  and 
enjoined  me  to  go  the  first  day,  that  I  might  have  longer 
time  to  recruit  against  the  King's  birthday,  I  became,  as 
you  will  have  heard,  much  distressed  what  course  to  pur- 
sue. I  took  the  first  moment  I  was  alone  with  Her 
Majesty  to  express  my  father's  obligation  to  her  for  not 
suffering  me  to  sit  up  on  her  ov/n  birthday,  in  this  week, 
and  I  besought  her  permission  to  lay  before  her  my  father's 
motives  for  hitherto  wishing  me  to  keep  quiet  this  spring, 
as  well  as  my  own,  adding  I  was  sure  Her  Majesty  would 
benignly  wish  this  business  to  be  done  as  peaceably  and 

VOL.   II,  14 


210  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

unobserved  ^  possible.     She  looked  extremely  earnest,  and 
bid  me  proceed. 

I  then  briefly  stated  that  whoever  had  the  high  honor  of 
belonging  to  their  Majesties  were  liable  to  comments  upon 
all  their  actions  ;  that,  if  the  comment  was  only  founded 
in  truth,  we  had  nothing  to  fear,  but  that,  as  the  world  was 
much  less  addicted  to  veracity  than  to  mischief,  my  father 
and  myself  had  an  equal  apprehension  that,  if  I  should 
now  be  seen  in  piiblic  so  quickly  before  the  impending 
change,  reports  might  be  spread,  as  soon  as  I  went  home, 
that  it  could  not  be  for  health  I  resigned. 

She  listened  very  attentively  and  graciously,  and  in- 
stantly acquiesced,  giving  me  the  ticket  for  my  own  dis- 
posal, and  another  for  little  Sarah,  who  was  to  have 
accompanied  me.  The  other,  therefore,  I  gave  to  James. 
And  thus  ended,  most  favorably,  this  dilemma. 

My  dear  Fredy  will  have  mentioned  the  circumstances 
of  the  Queen's  real  birthday,  and  her  insistance  that  I 
should  not  sit  up  for  the  ball,  and  the  most  kind  interfer- 
ence of  the  King  to  prevent  my  opposing  her  order,  in 
wliich  all  the  three  elder  Princesses  joined,  with  looks  of 
benevolent  delight  that  I  should  thus  be  spared  an  exer- 
tion for  which  I  was  really  most  unequal.  This  once, 
therefore,  the  Queen  had  only  Mrs.  Thielky,  and  I  had  an 
admirable  night's  repose  and  recruit  —  most  unpleasantly, 
however,  circumstanced  by  the  consciousness  it  was  deemed 
a  high  impropriety.  I  told  the  Queen  afterwards  that, 
though  I  was  most  sensible  of  her  gracious  consideration 
in  sparing  me  a  fatigue  which  I  believed  would  wholly 
have  overpowered  me,  I  yet  never  more  thoroughly  felt 
the  necessity  of  my  retreat,  that  my  place  might  be  sup- 
plied by  one  who  could  better  perform  its  office.  She  was 
not  much  pleased  with  this  speech  ;  but  I  owed  it  to  truth 
and  justice,  and  could  not  repress  it. 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  211 

Fkom  Sunday  22xd,  to  the  end  of  May.  —  This  Sun- 
day, the  birthday  of  the  lovely  and  amiable  Princess  Eliz- 
abeth, found  me  very  ill  again ;  but  as  I  am  that  now  very 
frequently,  and  always  come  round  to  the  same  state  as  be- 
fore these  little  occasional  attacks,  I  will  leave  them  unmen- 
tioned,  except  where  they  hang  to  other  circumstances. 

Poor  Mr.  Smelt,  who  had  spent  his  melancholy  winter  at 
Kew,  with  his  two  deserving  daughters,  jSlrs.  Cholmley  and 
Mrs.  Goulton,  was  now  preparing  to  return,  for  the  sum- 
mer, to  their  dwellings  in  the  north.  It  seemed  a  species 
of  duty  on  my  part  to  acquaint  him  with  my  intended 
resignation,  as  he  had  been  employed  by  her  Majesty  to 
bring  me  the  original  proposition  of  the  office ;  but  I  have 
no  permission  —  on  the  contrary,  repeated  exhortations  to 
tell  no  one ;  and  therefore,  from  the  time  the  transaction 
has  become  the  Queen's,  I  have  made  no  new  confidence 
whatsoever. 

When  the  trial  actually  recommenced,  the  Queen  grew 
anxious  for  my  going  to  it :  she  condescended  to  intimate 
that  my  accounts  of  it  were  the  most  faithful  and  satis- 
factory she  received,  and  to  express  much  ill-will  to  giving 
them  up.  The  motives  I  had  mentioned,  however,  were 
not  merely  personal ;  she  could  not  but  see  any  comments 
must  involve  more  than  myself,  and  therefore  I  abided 
steadily  by  her  ficst  agreement  to  my  absenting  myself 
from  all  public  places,  and  only  gently  joined  in  her  regret, 
which  I  forcibly  enough  felt  in  this  instance,  without  ven- 
turing any  offer  of  relinquishing  the  prudential  plan  pre- 
viously arranged.  She  gave  me  tickets  for  Charles  for 
every  day  that  the  Hall  was  opened,  and  I  collected  what 
I  could  of  information  from  him  for  her  satisfaction. 

I  had  a  most  friendly  visit  in  my  apartment  from  Dr. 
Willis,  a  man  whom  I  as  cordially  like  as  I  admire,  and 
whose  noble  open  heart  is  as  worthy  reverence  as  his  truly 


212  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [179]. 

original  talents  in  his  own  art.  He  came  to  offer  me  his 
counsel  for  my  health,  telling  me  he  really  could  not  en- 
dure to  see  me  look  so  wan  and  altered.  I  assured  him 
very  sincerely  there  was  no  medical  advice  I  could  receive 
in  the  whole  world  which  would  have  such  assistance  with 
me  from  faith  as  his  ;  but  that  as  I  was  the  formal  and 
of&cial  patient  of  Dr.  Gisburne,  I  feared  he  would  be  much 
offended  at  my  indulging  my  private  opinion  by  changing 
my  physician. 

"  Why,  now,  I  really  think,"  cried  he,  "  which  you  '11  say 
is  very  vain,  that  I  could  cure  you ;  and  why  should  not 
we  consult  without  his  knowing  it  ?  I  give  you  my  word 
I  would  not  offend  any  man ;  but  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it,  for  all  that,  I  would  affront  all  the  college  of  doctors, 
and  all  the  world  beside,  rather  than  not  do  you  good  if  it 
is  in  my  power." 

When  I  thanked  him  for  this  exceeding  kindness,  which 
was  uttered  with  a  cordiality  of  manner  that  doubled  its 
warmth,  he  said,  "  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  quite 
know  how  I  could  have  got  on  at  Kew,  in  the  King's  ill- 
ness, if  it  had  not  been  for  seeing  you  in  a  morning.  I 
assure  you  they  worried  me  so,  all  round,  one  way  or  other, 
that  I  was  almost  ready  to  go  off.  But  you  used  to  keep 
me  up  prodigiously.  Though,  I  give  you  my  word,  I  was 
afraid  sometimes  to  see  you,  with  your  good-humored  face, 
for  all  it  helped  me  to  keep  up,  because  I  did  not  know 
what  to  say  to  you,  when  things  went  bad,  on  account  of 
vexing  you." 

He  then  examined  me,  and  wrote  me  a  prescription,  and 
gave  me  directions,  and  told  me  I  must  write  him  word, 
into  Lincolnshire,  how  his  advice  agreed.  "If  you  were  to 
do  me  the  honor  to  send  me  a  letter,"  he  cried,  "  I  '11  assure 
you  I  should  be  very  much  pleased ;  but  you  would  give 
me  a  very  bad  opinion  of  you,  which  would  be  no  easy 


i 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  213 

thing  to  do  neither,  if  you  were  to  offer  me  a  fee,  except 
it  be  a  letter,  and  now  don't  be  stingy  of  that." 

I  tried  his  medicines,  but  they  were  too  violent,  and 
required  rest  and  nursing ;  however,  I  really  believe  they 
will  prove  effectual. 


Queen's  House,  London. 

Jltxe.  —  On  the  opening  of  this  month  Her  Majesty  told 
me  that  the  next  day  Mr.  Hastings  was  to  make  his  defence, 
and  warmly  added,  "  I  would  give  the  world  you  could  go 
to  it !  "  This  was  an  expression  so  unusual  in  animation, 
that  I  instantly  told  her  I  would  write  to  my  father,  who 
could  not  possibly,  in  that- case,  hesitate. 

"  Surely, "  she  cried,  "  you  may  wrap  up,  so  as  not  to 
catch  cold  that  once  ? "  I  told  Her  Majesty  that,  as  my 
father  had  never  thought  going  out  would  be  really  preju- 
dicial to  my  health,  he  had  only  wished  to  have  his  motive 
laid  fairly  before  Her  Majesty,  and  then  to  leave  it  to  her 
own  command.  Her  Majesty  accepted  this  mode  of  con- 
sent, and  gave  me  tickets  for  Charles  and  Sarah  to  accom- 
pany me,  and  gave  leave  and  another  ticket  for  Mr.  de  Luc 
to  be  of  the  party.  After  this  the  Eoyal  Family  went  to 
the  Abbey,  for  which,  also,  the  Queen  graciously  gave  me 
a  ticket  for  whom  I  pleased. 

Thursday,  June  2nd.  —  I  went  once  more  to  Westmin- 
ster Hall.  Charles  and  Sarah  came  not  to  their  time,  and 
I  left  directions  and  tickets,  and  set  off  with  only  Mr.  de 
Luc,  to  secure  our  own,  and  keep  places  for  them. 

The  Hall  was  more  crowded  than  on  any  day  since  the 
trial  commenced,  except  the  first.  Peers,  commoners,  and 
counsel,  peeresses,  commoneresses,  and  the  numerous  indefi- 
nites, crowded  every  part,  with  a  just  and  fair  curiosity  to 
hear  one  day's  defence,  after  seventy-three  of  accusation. 

Unfortunately,  I  sat  too  high  up  to  hear  the  opening,  and 


214  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

when,  afterwards,  the  departure  of  some  of  my  obstacles 
removed  me  lower,  I  was  just  behind  some  of  those  unfeel- 
ing enemies  who  have  not  even  the  decorum  due  to  them- 
selves, of  appearing  to  listen  to  what  is  offered  against 
their  own  side.  I  could  only  make  out  that  this  great  and 
persecuted  man,  upon  a  plan  all  his  own,  and  at  a  risk 
impossible  to  ascertain,  was  formally  making  his  own  de- 
fence, not  with  retaliating  declamation,  but  by  a  simple, 
concise,  and  most  interesting  statement  of  facts,  and  of  the 
necessities  accompanying  them  in  the  situation  to  which 
the  House  then  impeaching  had  five  times  called  him.  He 
spoke  with  most  gentlemanly  temper  of  his  accusers,  his 
provocation  considered,  yet  with  a  firmness  of  disdain  of 
the  injustice  with  which  he  had  been  treated  in  return  for 
his  services,  that  was  striking  and  affecting,  though  una- 
dorned and  manly. 

His  spirit,  however,  and  the  injuries  which  raised  it, 
rested  not  quietly  upon  his  particular  accusers  :  he  arraigned 
the  late  minister.  Lord  North,  of  ingratitude  and  double- 
dealing,  and  the  present  minister,  Mr.  Pitt,  of  unjustifiably 
and  unworthily  forbearing  to  sustain  him. 

Here  Mr.  Fox,  artfully  enough,  interrupted  him,  to  say 
the  Kincf's  ministers  were  not  to  be  arraigned  for  what 
passed  in  the  House  of  Parliament. 

Mr.  Burke  rose  also  to  enter  his  protest.  But  Mr.  Hast- 
ings then  lost  his  patience  and  his  temper  :  he  would  not 
suffer  the  interruption ;  he  had  never,  he  said,  interrupted 
their  long  speeches ;  and  when  Mr.  Burke  again  attempted 
to  speak,  Mr.  Hastings,  in  an  impassioned  but  affecting 
manner,  extended  his  arms,  and  called  out  loudly,  "  I  throw 
myself  upon  the  protection  of  your  Lordships  !  —  I  am  not 
used  to  public  speaking,  and  cannot  answer  them  ;  what  I 
wish  to  submit  to  your  Lordships  I  have  committed  to 
paper ;  but,  if  I  am  punished  for  what  I  say,  I  must  insist 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  215 

upon  being  heard  !  —  I  call  upon  you,  my  Lords,  to  protect 
me  from  this  violence  !  "  This  animated  appeal  prevailed  ; 
the  managers  were  silenced  by  an  almost  universal  cry  of 
"  Hear,  hear,  hear ! "  from  the  Lords  ;  and  by  Lord  Kenyon, 
who  represented  the  Chancellor,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Hastings, 
proceed. " 

The  angry  orators,  though  with  a  very  ill  grace,  were 
then  silenced.  They  were  little  aware  what  a  compliment 
this  intemperate  eagerness  was  paying  to  Mr.  Hastings, 
who  for  so  many  long  days  manifested  that  fortitude  against 
attack,  and  that  patience  against  abuse,  which  they  could 
not  muster,  without  any  parallel  in  provocation,  even  for 
three  short  hours. 

The  conclusion  of  the  defence  I  heard  better,  as  Mr. 
Hastings  spoke  considerably  louder  from  this  time ;  the 
spirit  of  indignation  animated  his  manner  and  gave  strength 
to  his  voice.  You  will  have  seen  the  chief  parts  of  his 
discourse  in  the  newspapers  ;  and  you  cannot,  1  think,  but 
grow  more  and  more  his  friend  as  you  peruse  it.  He 
called  pathetically  and  solemnly  for  instant  judgment ; 
but  the  Lords,  after  an  adjournment,  decided  to  hear  his 
defence  by  evidence,  and  in  order,  the  next  sessions.  How 
grievous  such  continual  delay  to  a  man  past  sixty,  and 
sighing  for  such  a  length  of  time  for  redress  from  a  prose- 
cution as  yet  unparalleled  in  our  annals  ! 

Wlien  we  came  downstairs  into  the  large  waiting-hall, 
Mr.  de  Luc  went  in  search  of  William  and  chairs.  Sally 
then  immediately  discerned  Mr.  Wyndham  with  some 
ladies.     He  looked  at  me  without  at  first  knowing  me. 

Mr.  NichoUs,  however,  knew  my  voice.  He  came  and 
chatted  with  his  accustomed  good-humor  and  ease. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Sarah  whispered  me  that  Mr. 
Wyndham  was  looking  harder  and  harder  ;  and  presently, 
at  a  pause  with  Mr.  Nicholls,  he  came,  up  to  me,  and  in  a 


216  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

tone  of  very  deep  concern,  and  with  a  look  that  fully  con- 
curred with  it,  he  said,  "  Do  I  see  j\Iiss  Burney  ?  "  I  could 
not  but  feel  the  extent  of  the  interrogation,  and  my  assent 
acknowledged  my  comprehension. 

"  Indeed,"  he  cried,  "  I  was  going  to  make  a  speech  — 
not  very  —  gallant ! " 

"  But  it  is  what  I  should  like  better,"  I  cried,  "  for  it  is 
kind,  if  you  were  going  to  say  I  look  miserably  ill,  as  that 
is  but  a  necessary  consequence  of  feeling  so,  —  and  misera- 
bly ill  enough  I  have  felt  this  long  time  past." 

When  we  came  home  I  was  immediately  summoned  to 
Her  Majesty,  to  whom  I  gave  a  full  and  fair  account  of  all 
I  had  heard  of  the  defence ;  and  it  drew  tears  from  her 
expressive  eyes,  as  I  repeated  Mr.  Hastings's  own  words, 
upon  the  hardship  and  injustice  of  the  treatment  he  had 
sustained. 

Afterwards,  at  night,  the  King  called  upon  me  to  repeat 
my  account ;  and  I  was  equally  faithful,  sparing  nothing 
of  what  had  dropped  from  the  persecuted  defendant 
relative  to  His  Majesty's  Ministers.  I  thought  ofiicial 
accounts  might  be  less  detailed  there  than  against  the 
Managers,  who,  as  open  enemies,  excite  uot  so  much  my 
"  high  displeasure  "  as  the  friends  of  Government,  who  so 
insidiously  elected  and  panegyrized  him  while  they  wanted 
his  assistance,  and  betrayed  and  deserted  him  when  he 
was  no  longer  in  a  capacity  to  serve  them.  Such,  at  least, 
is  the  light  in  which  the  defence  places  them. 

The  King  listened  with  much  earnestness  and  a  marked 
compassion.  He  had  already  read  the  account  sent  him 
officially,  but  he  was  as  eager  to  hear  all  I  could  recollect, 
as  if  still  uninformed  of  what  had  passed.  The  v/ords 
may  be  given  to  the  eye,  but  the  impression  they  make 
can  only  be  conveyed  by  the  ear ;  and  I  came  back  so 
eagerly  interested,  that  my  memory  was  not  more  stored 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  217 

with  the  very  words  than  my  voice  with  the  intonations 
of  all  that  had  passed.  With  regard  to  my  bearing  this 
sole  unofficial  exertion  since  my  illness,  I  can  only  say 
the  fatigue  I  felt  bore  not  any  parallel  with  that  of  every 
drawing-room  day,  because  I  was  seated. 

June  4th.  —  Let  me  now  come  to  the  4th,  the  last  birth- 
day of  the  good,  gracious,  benevolent  King  I  shall  ever,  in 
all  human  probability,  pass  under  his  Eoyal  roof. 

The  thought  was  affecting  to  me,  in  defiance  of  my  vol- 
unteer conduct,  and  I  could  scarce  speak  to  the  Queen  when 
I  first  went  to  her,  and  wished  to  say  something  upon  a 
day  so  interesting.  The  King  was  most  gracious  and  kind 
when  he  came  into  the  State  Dressing-Eoom  at  St.  James's, 
and  particularly  inquired  about  my  health  and  strength, 
and  if  they  would  befriend  me  for  the  day.  I  longed  again 
to  tell  him  how  hard  I  would  work  them,  rather  than  let 
them,  on  such  a  day,  drive  me  from  my  office  ;  but  I  found 
it  better  suited  me  to  be  quiet ;  it  was  safer  not  to  trust  to 
any  expression  of  loyalty,  with  a  mind  so  full,  and  on  a 
day  so  critical. 

With  regard  to  health,  my  side  is  all  that  is  attended 
with  any  uneasiness,  and  that  is  sometimes  a  serious  busi- 
ness. Certainly  there  is  nothing  premature  in  what  has 
been  done.  And  —  0  picquet !  —  life  hardly  hangs  on  earth 
during  its  compulsion,  in  these  months  succeeding  months, 
and  years  creeping,  crawling,  after  years. 

At  dinner  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  presided,  attired  magnifi- 
cently. Miss  Goldsworthy,  Mrs.  Stainforth,  Messrs.  de  Luc 
and  Stanhope  dined  with  us ;  and  while  we  were  still  eating 
fruit,  the  Duke  of  Clarence  entered.  He  was  just  risen  from 
the  King's  table,  and  waiting  for  his  equipage  to  go  home 
and  prepare  for  the  ball.  To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  energy 
of  his  Eoyal  Highness's  language,  I  ought  to  set  apart  a  gen- 
eral objection  to  writing,  or  rather  intimating,  certain  forci- 


218  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

ble  words,  and  beg  leave  to  show  you,  in  genuine  colors,  a 
Royal  sailor.  We  all  rose,  of  course,  upon  his  entrance, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  placed  themselves  behind  their 
chairs,  while  the  footman  left  the  room  ;  but  he  ordered  us 
all  to  sit  down,  and  called  the  men  back  to  hand  about 
some  wine.  He  was  in  exceeding  high  spirits  and  in  the 
utmost  good  humor.  He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  next  Mrs.  SchweDenberg,  and  looked  remarkably 
well,  gay,  and  full  of  sport  and  mischief,  yet  clever  withal 
as  well  as  comical. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  first  day  I  have  ever  dined  with  the 
King  at  St.  James's  on  his  birthday.  Pray,  have  you  all 
drunk  His  Majesty's  health  ?  " 

"  No,  your  Roy'l  Highness  :  your  Roy*!  Highness  might 
make  dem  do  dat,"  said  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

"  0,  by will  I !     Here,  you  (to  the  footman)  ;  bring 

champagne  !  I  '11  drink  the  King's  health  again,  if  I  die 
for  it  !  Yet,  I  have  done  pretty  well  already  :  so  has  the 
King,  I  promise  you !  I  believe  His  Majesty  was  never 
taken  such  good  care  of  before.  We  have  kept  his  spirits 
up,  I  promise  you ;  we  have  enabled  him  to  go  through  his 
fatigues  ;  and  I  should  have  done  more  still,  but  for  the 
ball  and  Mary —  I  have  promised  to  dance  with  Mary  !  " 

Princess  Mary  made  her  first  appearance  at  Court  to- 
day :  she  looked  most  interesting  and  unaffectedly  lovely  : 
she  is  a  sweet  creature,  and  perhaps,  in  point  of  beauty, 
the  first  of  this  truly  beautiful  race,  of  which  Princess 
Mary  may  be  called  pendant  to  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Champagne  being  now  brought  for  the  Duke,  he  ordered 
it  all  round.  When  it  came  to  me  I  whispered  to  Wester- 
haults  to  carry  it  on  :  the  Duke  slapped  his  hand  violently 

on  the  table,  and  called  out,  "  O,  by ,  you  shall  drink 

it !  "  There  was  no  resisting  this.  We  all  stood  up,  and 
the  Duke  sonorously  gave  the  Eoyal  toast.     "  And  now," 


1791.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  219 

cried  he,  making  us  all  sit  down  again,  "  where  are  my  ras- 
cals of  servants  ?  I  sha'n't  be  in  time  for  the  ball;  besides, 
I  've  got  a  deuced  tailor  waiting  to  fix  on  my  epaulette  ! 
Here,  you,  go  and  see  for  my  servants  !  d'  ye  hear  ?  Scam- 
per off!  "  Off  ran  William.  "  Come,  let 's  have  the  King's 
health  again.  De  Luc,  drink  it.  Here,  champagne  to  de 
Luc  ! "  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Mr.  de  Luc's  mixed 
simper  —  half  pleased,  half  alarmed.  However,  the  wine 
came  and  he  drank  it,  the  Duke  taking  a  bumper  for  him- 
self at  the  same  time. 

"  Poor  Stanhope  ! "  cried  he  :  "  Stanhope  shall  have  a 
glass,  too !  Here,  champagne  !  what  are  you  all  about  ? 
Why  don't  you  give  champagne  to  poor  Stanhope  ? "  Mr. 
Stanhope,  with  great  pleasure,  complied,  and  the  Duke 
again  accompanied  him. 

"  Come  hither,  do  you  hear  ?  "  cried  the  Duke  to  the  ser- 
vants, and  on  the  approach,  slow  and  submissive,  of  Mrs. 
Stainforth's  man,  he  hit  him  a  violent  slap  on  the  back, 
calling  out,  "  Hang  you!  why  don't  you  see  for  my  rascals  ?" 

Away  flew  the  man,  and  then  he  called  out  to  Wester- 
haults,  "  Hark'ee !  bring  another  glass  of  champagne  to 
Mr.  de  Luc  ! " 

Mr.  de  Luc  knows  these  Eoyal  youths  too  well  to  ven- 
ture at  so  vain  an  experiment  as  disputing  with  them  ;  so 
he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  drank  the  wine.  The 
Duke  did  the  same.  "And  now,  poor  Stanhope,"  cried 
the  Duke ;  "  give  another  glass  to  poor  Stanhope,  d'  ye 
hear  ? " 

"  Is  not  your  Royal  Highness  afraid,"  cried  Mr.  Stan- 
hope, displaying  the  full  circle  of  his  borrowed  teeth,  "  I 
shall  be  apt  to  be  rather  up  in  the  world,  as  the  folks  say, 
if  I  tope  on  at  this  rate  ? " 

"  Not  at  all !  you  can't  get  drunk  in  a  better  cause.  I  'd 
get  drunk  myself  if  it  was  not  for  the  ball.     Here,  cham- 


220  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

pagne  !  another  glass  for  the  philosopher !  I  keep  sober 
for  Mary." 

"  0,  your  Eoyal  Highness ! "  cried  Mr.  de  Luc,  gaining 
courage  as  he  drank,  "  you  will  make  me  quite  droll  of  it 
if  you  make  me  go  on  —  quite  droll ! " 

"  So  much  the  better !  so  much  the  better !  it  will  do 
you  a  monstrous  deal  of  good.  Here,  another  glass  of 
champagne  for  the  Queen's  philosopher ! "  Mr.  de  Luc 
obeyed,  and  the  Duke  then  addressed  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg's  George.  "  Here,  you  !  you  !  why,  where  is  my  car- 
riage ?  run  and  see,  do  you  hear  ? "  Off  hurried  George, 
grinning  irrepressibly. 

"  If  it  was  not  for  that  deuced  tailor,  I  would  not  stir. 
I  shall  dine  at  the  Queen's  house  on  Monday,  Miss  Golds- 
worthy  ;  I  shall  come  to  dine  with  Princess  Eoyal.  I  find 
she  does  not  go  to  Windsor  with  the  Queen."  The  Queen 
meant  to  spend  one  day  at  Windsor,  on  account  of  a  re- 
view which  carried  the  King  that  way. 

Some  talk  then  ensued  upon  the  Duke's  new  carriage, 
which  they  all  agreed  to  be  the  most  beautiful  that  day  at 
Court.  I  had  not  seen  it,  which,  to  me,  was  some  impedi- 
ment against  praising  it.  He  then  said  it  was  necessary 
to  drink  the  Queen's  health. 

The  gentlemen  here  made  no  demur,  though  Mr.  de  Luc 
arched  his  eyebrows  in  expressive  fear  of  consequences. 

"  A  bumper,"  cried  the  Duke,  "  to  the  Queen's  gentleman- 
usher."     They  all  stood  up  and  drank  the  Queen's  health. 

"  Here  are  three  of  us,"  cried  the  Duke,  "  all  belonging 
to  the  Queen :  the  Queen's  philosopher,  the  Queen's  gen- 
tleman-usher, and  the  Queen's  son  ;  but,  thank  Heaven, 
I  'm  nearest." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Mr.  Stanhope,  a  little  affronted,  "  I  am  not 
now  the  Queen's  gentleman-usher ;  I  am  the  Queen's 
equerry,  sir." 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  221 

"  A  glass  more  of  champagne  here  !  What  are  you  all 
so  slow  for  ?  Where  are  all  ray  rascals  gone  ?  They  've 
put  me  in  one  passion  already  this  morning.  Come,  a 
glass  of  champagne  for  the  Queen's  gentleman-usher ! " 
laughing  heartily. 

"  No,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Stanhope ;  "  I  am  equerry  now, 
sir." 

"  And  another  glass  to  the  Queen's  philosopher !  "  ,  Nei- 
ther gentleman  objected  ;  but  ]\Irs.  Schwellenberg,  who  had 
sat  laughing  and  happy  all  this  time,  now  grew  alarmed, 
and  said,  "Your  Eoyal  Highness,  I  am  afraid  for  the 
ball ! " 

"  Hold  you  your  potato-jaw,  my  dear,"  cried  the  Duke, 
patting  her ;  but,  recollecting  himself,  he  took  her  hand  and 
pretty  abruptly  kissed  it,  and  then,  flinging  it  hastily  away, 
laughed  aloud,  and  called  out,  "  There  !  that  will  make 
amends  for  anything,  so  now  I  may  say  what  I  will.  So 
here !  a  glass  of  Champagne  for  the  Queen's  philosopher 
and  the  Queen's  gentleman-usher  !  Hang  me  if  it  will  not 
do  them  a  monstrous  deal  of  good ! "  ■  Here  new^s  was 
brought  that  the  equipage  was  in  order.  He  started  up, 
calling  out,  "  Now,  then,  for  my  deuced  tailor." 

"  Oh,  your  Eoyal  Highness ! "  cried  Mr.  de  Luc,  in  a 
tone  of  expostulation,  "  now  you  have  made  us  droll,  you 
go ! "  Off,  however,  he  went.  And  is  it  not  a  curious 
scene  ?  All  my  amaze  is,  how  any  of  their  heads  bore 
such  libations. 

In  the  evening  I  had  by  no  means  strength  to  encounter 
the  ball-room.  I  gave  my  tickets  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Doug- 
las. Mrs.  Stainforth  was  dying  to  see  the  Princess  Mary 
in  her  Court  dress.  Mr.  Stanhope  offered  to  conduct  her 
to  a  place  of  prospect.  She  went  with  him.  I  thought 
this  preferable  to  an  unbroken  evening  with  my  fair  com- 
panion, and  Mr.  de  Luc  thinking  the  same,  we  both  left 


222  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  to  unattire,  and  followed.  But  we 
were  rather  in  a  scrape  by  trusting  to  Mr.  Stanhope  after 
all  this  champagne  :  he  had  carried  Mrs.  Stainforth  to  the 
•very  door  of  the  ball-room,  and  there  fixed  her  —  in  a 
place  which  the  King,  Queen,  and  suite  must  brush  past 
in  order  to  enter  the  ball-room.  I  had  followed,  however, 
and  the  crowds  of  beef-eaters,  officers,  and  guards  that 
lined  all  the  state-rooms  through  which  we  exliibited  our- 
selves, prevented  my  retreating  alone.  I  stood,  therefore, 
next  to  Mrs.  Stainforth,  and  saw  the  ceremony. 

The  passage  was  made  so  narrow  by  attendants,  that 
they  were  all  forced  to  go  one  by  one.  First,  all  the 
King's  great  state-officers,  amongst  whom  I  recognized 
LordCourtown,  Treasurer  of  the  Household;  Lord  Salis- 
bury carried  a  candle  ! — 't  is  an  odd  etiquette.  —  These  being 
passed,  came  the  King  —  he  saw  us  and  laughed  ;  then  the 
Queen's  Master  of  the  Horse,  Lord  Harcourt,  who  did 
ditto  ;  then  some  more. 

The  Vice-Chamberlain  carries  the  Queen's  candle,  that 
she  may  have  the  arm  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  lean  on  ; 
accordingly,  Lord  Aylesbury,  receiving  that  honor,  now 
preceded  the  Queen :  she  looked  amazed  at  sight  of  us. 
The  kind  Princesses  one  by  one  acknowledged  us.  I  spoke 
to  Princess  Mary,  wishing  her  Eoyal  Highness  joy ;  she 
looked  in  a  delight  and  an  alarm  nearly  equal.  She  was 
to  dance  her  first  minuet.  Then  followed  the  ladies  of  the 
Bedchamber,  and  Lady  Harcourt  was  particularly  civil. 
Then  the  ]\Laids  of  Honor,  every  one  of  whom  knew  and 
spoke  to  us.  I  peered  vainly  for  the  Duke  of  Clarence, 
but  none  of  the  Princes  passed  us.  What  a  crowd  brought 
up  the  rear  !  I  was  vexed  not  to  see  the  Prince  of  AVales. 
Well,  God  bless  the  King !  and  many  and  many  such  days 
may  he  know ! 

I  was  now  so  tired  as  to  be  eager  to  go  back ;  but  the 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  223 

Queen's  philosopher,  the  good  and  most  sober  and  tem- 
perate of  men,  was  really  a  little  giddy  with  all  his  bum- 
pers, and  his  eyes,  which  were  quite  lustrous,  could  not  fix 
any  object  steadily;  while  the  poor  gentleman-usher  — 
equerry,  I  mean  —  kept  his  mouth  so  Avide  open  with  one 
continued  grin, —  I  suppose  from  the  sparkling  beverage, — 
that  I  was  every  minute  afraid  its  pearly  ornaments,  which 
never  fit  their  case,  would  have  fallen  at  our  feet.  Mrs. 
Stainforth  gave  me  a  significant  look  of  making  the  same 
observation,  and,  catching  me  fast  by  the  arm,  said,  "  Come, 
Miss  Burney,  let 's  you  and  I  take  care  of  one  another ; " 
and  then  she  safely  toddled  me  back  to  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  who  greeted  us  with  saying,  "  Veil,  bin  you  much 
amused  ?  Dat  Prince  Villiam  —  oders  de  Duke  de  Clarence 
—  bin  raelly  ver  merry  —  oders  vat  you  call  tipsy." 

Brief  must  l)e  my  attempt  at  the  renmant  of  this  month, 
my  dearest  friends  ;  for  it  was  spent  in  so  much  difficulty, 
pain,  and  embarrassment,  that  I  should  have  very  little 
to  relate  that  you  could  have  any  pleasure  to  hear ;  and 
I  am  weary  of  dwelling  on  evils  that  now,  when  I  write, 
are  past !     I  thank  God  ! 

June  5tu.  —  The  day  following  the  birthday,  you  can- 
not be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  was  really  very  ill.  I  stood 
with  such  infinite  difficulty  in  the  Queen's  presence  at 
noon  that  I  was  obliged  to  be  dismissed,  and  to  go  to  bed 
in  the  middle  of  the  day.  I  soon  got  better,  however, 
and  again  attended  in  the  evening,  and  in  a  few  days  I  was 
much  the  same  as  before  tlie  gala. 

My  orders,  which  I  punctually  obeyed,  of  inform hig  no 
one  of  ray  impending  departure,  were  extremely  painful  to 
adhere  to,  as  almost  everybody  I  saw  advised  me  strenu- 
ously to  beg  leave  of  absence  to  recruit,  and  pressed  so 
home  to  me  the  necessity  of  taking  some  step  for  my 
health,   that   I   was   reduced   to   a    thousand   unpleasant 


224  DIAKY   AND   LEriERS  [1791. 

evasions  in  my  answers.  But  I  was  bound ;  and  I  never 
disengage  myself  from  bonds  imposed  by  others,  if  once  I 
have  agreed  to  them. 

Mr.  Turbulent  at  this  time  outstayed  the  tea-party  one 
evening,  not  for  his  former  rhodomontading,  but  to  seri- 
ously and  earnestly  advise  me  to  resign.  My  situation,  he 
said,  was  evidently  death  to  me. 

Her  Majesty,  the  day  before  we  left  Windsor,  gave  me 
to  understand  my  attendance  would  be  yet  one  more  fort- 
night requisite,  though  no  longer.  I  heard  this  with  a 
fearful  presentiment  I  should  surely  never  go  through 
another  fortnight,  in  so  weak  and  languishing  and  painful 
a  state  of  health.  However,  I  could  but  accede,  though  I 
fear  with  no  very  courtly  grace.  So  melancholy,  indeed, 
was  the  state  of  my  mind,  from  the  weakness  of  my  frame, 
that  I  was  never  alone  but  to  form  scenes  of  "  foreign  woe," 
when  my  own  disturbance  did  not  occupy  me  wholly.  I 
began  —  almost  whether  I  would  or  not  —  another  tragedy  ! 
The  other  three  all  unfinished  !  not  one  read  !  and  one  of 
them,  indeed,  only  generally  sketched  as  to  plan  and  char- 
acter. But  I  could  go  on  with  nothing  ;  I  could  only  sug- 
gest and  invent. 

The  power  of  composition  has  to  me  indeed  proved  a 
solace,  a  blessing  !  When*  incapable  of  all  else,  that,  unso- 
licited, unthought  of,  has  presented  itself  to  my  solitary 
leisure,  and  beguiled  me  of  myself,  though  it  has  not  of 
late  regaled  me  with  gayer  associates. 

July.  —  I  come  now  to  write  tlie  last  week  of  my  royal 
residence.  The  Queen  honored  me  with  the  most  uniform 
graciousness,  and  though,  as  the  time  of  separation  ap- 
proached, her  cordiality  rather  diminished,  and  traces  of 
internal  displeasure  appeared  sometimes,  arising  from  an 
opinion  I  ought  rather  to  have  struggled  on,  live  or  die,  than 
to  quit  her  —  yet  I  am  sure  she  saw  how  poor  was  my  own 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  225 

chance,  except  by  a  change  in  the  mode  of  life,  and  at 
least  ceased  to  wonder,  though  she  could  not  approve.^ 

The  King  was  more  courteous,  more  communicative, 
more  amiable,  at  every  meeting  ;  and  he  condescended  to 
hold  me  in  conversation  with  him  by  every  opportunity, 
and  with  an  air  of  such  benevolence  and  goodness,  that  I 
never  felt  such  ease  and  pleasure  in  his  notice  before.  He 
talked  over  all  Mr.  Boswell's  book,  and  I  related  to  him 
sundry  anecdotes  of  Dr.  Johnson,  all  highly  to  his  honor, 
and  such  as  I  was  eager  to  make  known.  He  always  heard 
me  with  the  utmost  complacency,  and  encouraged  me  to 
proceed  in  my  accounts,  by  every  mark  of  attention  and 
interest. 

He  told  me  once,  laughing  heartily,  that,  having  seen 
my  name  in  the  Index,  he  was  eager  to  come  to  what  was 
said  of  me  ;  but  when  he  found  so  little,  he  was  surprised 
and  disappointed. 

I  ventured  to  assure  him  how  much  I  had  myseK  been 
rejoiced  at  this  very  circumstance,  and  with  what  satis- 
faction I  had  reflected  upon  having  very  seldom  met  Mr. 
Boswell,  as  I  knew  there  was  no  other  security  against 
all  manner  of  risks  in  his  relations. 

1  "  Sweet  Queen !  what  noble  candor,  to  admit  that  the  undutifulness 
of  people  who  did  not  think  the  honor  of  adjusting  her  tuckers  worth  the 
sacrifice  of  their  own  lives  was,  though  highly  criminal,  not  altogether  un- 
natural !  We  perfectly  understand  her  Majesty's  contempt  for  the  lives  of 
others  where  her  own  pleasure  was  concerned.  Perhaps  that  economy 
which  was  among  her  Majesty's  most  conspicuous  virtues  had  something 
to  do  with  her  conduct  on  this  occasion.  Miss  Bumey  had  never  hinted 
that  she  expected  a  retiring  pension  ;  but  her  Majesty  knew  what  the  pub- 
lic thought,  and  what  became  her  own  dignity.  She  could  not  for  very 
shame  suffer  a  woman  of  distinguished  genius,  who  had  quitted  a  lucra- 
tive career  to  wait  on  her,  who  had  served  her  faithfully  for  a  pittance 
during  five  years,  and  whose  constitution  had  been  impaired  by  labor  and 
watching,  to  leave  the  Court  without  some  mark  of  royal  liberality." — Lord 
Macaulay,  Essay  on  Madame  d'Arblay. 
VOL.  II.  15 


226  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

I  must  have  told  you  long  since  of  the  marriage  of  Mile. 
Montmoulin  to  M.  d'Espere-en-Dieu  ?  Her  niece,  another 
Mile.  Montmoulin,  has  succeeded  her.  I  was  not  inclined 
to  make  new  acquaintance  on  the  eve  of  my  departure ; 
but  she  came  one  morning  to  my  room,  in  attendance  upon 
the  Princess  Mary,  w^ho  called  in  to  ask  me  some  question. 
She  seems  agreeable  and  sensible.  The  Princess  Mary 
then  stayed  and  chatted  with  me  over  her  own  adventures 
on  the  King's  birthday,  when  she  first  appeared  at  Court. 
The  history  of  her  dancing  at  the  ball,  and  the  situation  of 
her  partner  and  brother,  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  she  spoke 
of  with  a  sweet  ingenuousness  and  artless  openness  which 
mark  her  very  amiable  character.  And  not  a  little  did  I 
divert  her  when  I  related  the  Duke's  visit  to  our  party ! 
"  Oh,"  cried  she,  "  he  told  me  of  it  himself  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  said,  '  You  may  think  how  far  I  was  gone,  for  I 
kissed  the  Schwellenberg's  hand  ! '  " 

About  this  time  Mr.  Turbulent  made  me  a  visit  at  tea- 
time,  when  the  gentlemen  were  at  the  Castle ;  and  the 
moment  William  left  the  room,  he  eagerly  said,  "  Is  this 
true,  Miss  Burney,  tliat  I  liear  ?  Are  we  going  to  lose 
you  ? "  I  was  much  surprised,  but  could  not  deny  the 
charge.  He,  very  good-naturedly,  declared  himself  much 
pleased  at  a  release  which,  he  protested,  he  thought  neces- 
sary to  my  life's  preservation.  I  made  him  tell  me  the 
channel  through  which  a  business  I  had  guarded  so  scru- 
pulously myself  had  reached  him  ;  but  it  is  too  full  of 
windings  for  writing. 

With  Mr.  de  Luc  I  was  already  in  confidence  upon  my 
resignation,  and  with  the  knowledge  of  the  Queen,  as  he 
had  received  the  intelligence  from  Germany,  whence  my 
successor  was  now  arriving.  I  then  also  begged  the  in- 
dulgence of  writing  to  Mr.  Smelt  upon  the  subject,  which 
w^as  accorded  me. 


1791.1  OF   MADAJLE   D'ARBLAY.  227 

My  next  attack  was  from  Miss  Planta.  She  expressed 
herself  in  the  deepest  concern  at  my  retiring,  though  she 
not  only  acknowledged  its  necessity,  but  confessed  she  had 
not  thought  I  could  have  performed  my  official  duty  even 
one  year !  She  broke  from  me  while  we  talked,  leaving 
me  abruptly  in  a  violent  passion  of  tears. 


Miss  Burney  to  Dr.  Barney. 

July  3vd,  '91. 

Dearest  Sir,  —  Mademoiselle  Jacobi,  my  destined  suc- 
cessor, is  come.  This  moment  I  have  been  told  it  by  the 
Queen.  And,  in  truth,  I  am  again  feeling  so  unwell  that  I 
had  fully  expected,  if  the  delay  had  been  yet  lengthened, 
another  dreadful  seizure  for  its  termination.  But  I  hope 
now  to  avoid  this :  and  ray  mind  is  very  full,  very  agi- 
tated ;  nothing  has  yet  been  said  of  my  day  of  dismis- 
sion. 

I  conclude  I  return  not  till  Thursday,  after  the  draw- 
ing-room. I  fancy  my  attendance  will  be  required  at  St. 
James's  till  that  ceremony  is  over.  It  will  be  highly  dis- 
agreeable, and  even  painful,  to  conclude  in  such  full  con- 
gress and  tine  trappings,  &c.,  for  I  know  I  shall  feel  a  pang 
at  parting  with  the  Queen,  in  the  midst  of  the  soul's  satis- 
faction with  which  I  shall  return  to  my  beloved  father  — 
tliat  dear  parental  protection  under  which,  if  my  altered 
health  should  even  fail  of  restoration,  my  mind  will  be 
composed,  and  my  best  affections  cherished,  soothed,  and 
returned.  My  eyes  fill  while  I  write ;  my  dearest  father, 
I  feel  myself  already  in  your  kind  arms.  I  shall  write 
instantly  to  my  good  Mrs.  Ord ;  I  have  many  reasons  for 
knowing  her  plan  of  excursion  as  Mdse  to  follow  as  it  was 
kind  to  propose  ;  and  if  you  go  to  Crewe  Hall,  we  may 
set  off  almost  at  the  same  moment. 


228  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

All  the  sweet  Princesses  seem  sorry  I  am  going.  In- 
deed the  most  flattering  marks  of  attention  meet  me  from 
all  quarters.  I  feel  heavy-hearted  at  the  parting  scene, 
especially  with  the  Queen,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  joy  and 
relief  to  return  to  my  beloved  father.  And  the  King  — 
the  benevolent  King  —  so  uniformly,  partially,  and  en- 
couragingly good  to  me  —  I  can  hardly  look  at  with  dry 
eyes.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  has  been  forced  to  town  by  ill- 
health  ;  she  was  very  friendly,  even  affectionate,  in  going. 

The  business  with  my  servants  is  quite  a  tragedy  to  me 
—  they  so  much  liked  their  places :  they  have  both  been 
crying,  even  the  man ;  Goter  cannot  keep  from  sobbing. 

I  flatter  myself,  dearest  sir,  we  shall  still  have  near  a 
month  together  before  our  first  branching  off;  and  such 
rest  as  that,  with  peace,  my  long-postponed  medical  trial 
of  Dr.  W.'s  prescription,  and  my  own  most  wished  regimen 
of  affection  in  domestic  life,  will  do  all  that  can  be  done 
towards  recruiting  my  shattered  frame  ;  and  the  frequent 
•rentle  changes  of  air,  with  such  a  skilful  directress  as  Mrs. 
Ord,  will  be  giving  me,  indeed,  every  possible  chance. 

Adieu,  most  dear  sir  :  to  the  world's  end,  and  I  hope 
after  the  world's  end,  dutifully  and  affectionately,  your 

r.  B. 

I  had  soon  the  pleasure  to  receive  IVIlle.  Jacobi.  She 
brought  with  her  a  young  German,  as  her  maid,  who  proved 
to  be  her  niece,  but  so  poor  she  could  not  live  when  her 
aunt  left  Germany  !  Mr.  Best,  a  messenger  of  the  King's, 
brought  her  to  Windsor,  and  Mrs.  Best,  his  wife,  accom- 
panied him. 

I  was  extremely  pleased  with  Mile.  Jacobi,  who  is  tall, 
well  made,  and  nearly  handsome,  and  of  a  humor  so  gay, 
an  understanding  so  lively,  and  manners  so  frank  and 
ingenuous,  that  I  felt  an  immediate  regard  for  her,  and 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  229 

we  grew  mutual  good  friends.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  a  dignified  clergyman  of  Hanover,  high  in  theological 
fame. 

They  all  dined  with  me  ;  and,  indeed.  Mile.  Jacohi, 
wanting  a  thousand  informations  in  her  new  situation, 
which  I  was  most  happy  to  give  her,  seldom  quitted  me  an 
instant. 

Tuesday  morning  I  had  a  conversation,  very  long  and 
very  affecting  to  me,  with  Her  Majesty.  I  cannot  pretend 
to  detail  it.  I  will  only  tell  you  she  began  by  speaking  of 
Mile.  Jacobi,  whom  I  had  the  satisfaction  to  praise,  as  far 
as  had  appeared,  very  warmly ;  and  then  she  led  me  to  talk 
at  large  upon  the  nature  and  requisites  and  circumstances 
of  the  situation  I  was  leaving.  I  said  whatever  I  could 
suggest  that  \vould  tend  to  render  my  successor  more  com- 
fortable, and  had  the  great  happiness  to  represent  with 
success  the  consolation  and  very  innocent  pleasure  she 
might  reap  from  the  society  of  the  young  relation  she  had 
brought  over,  if  she  might  be  permitted  to  treat  her  at  once 
as  a  companion,  and  not  as  a  servant.  This  was  heard  with 
the  most  humane  complacency,  and  I  had  leave  given  me 
to  forward  the  plan  in  various  ways. 

She  then  conversed  upon  sundry  subjects,  all  of  them  y 
confidential  in  their  nature,  for  near  an  hour ;  and  then, 
after  a  pause,  said,  "  Do  I  owe  you  anything,  my  dear  Miss 
Burney  ?  "  I  acquainted  her  with  a  debt  or  two  amount- 
ing to  near  70^.  She  said  she  would  settle  it  in  the  after- 
noon, and  then  paused  again ;  after  which,  with  a  look  full 
of  benignity,  she  very  expressively  said,  "  As  I  don't  kaow 
your  plan,  or  what  you  propose,  I  cannot  tell  what  would 
make  you  comfortable,  but  you  know  the  size  of  my 
family."  I  comprehended  her,  and  was.  immediately  inter- 
rupting her  with  assurances  of  my  freedom  from  all  expec- 
tation or  claim ;  but  she  stopped  me,  saying,  "  You  know 


230  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

what  you  now  have  from  me :  —  the  half  of  that  I  mean  to 
continue." 

Amazed  and  almost  overpowered  by  a  munificence  I  had 
so  little  expected  or  thought  of,  I  poured  forth  the  most 
earnest  disclaimings  of  such  a  mark  of  her  graciousness, 
declaring  I  knew  too  well  her  innumerable  calls  to  be  easy 
in  receiving  it ;  and  much  more  I  uttered  to  this  purpose, 
with  the  unaffected  warmth  that  animated  me  at  the 
moment.  She  heard  me  almost  silently  ;  but,  in  conclu- 
sion, simply,  yet  strongly,  said,  "  I  shall  certainly  do  that ! " 
with  a  stress  on  the  "  tliat "  that  seemed  to  kindly  mean 
she  would  rather  have  done  more. 

The  conference  was  in  this  stage  when  the  Princess 
Elizabeth  came  into  the  room.  The  Queen  then  retired  to 
the  ante-chamber.  My  eyes  being  full,  and  my  heart  not 
very  empty,  I  could  not  then  forbear  saying  to  her  Eoyal 
Highness  how  much  the  goodness  of  the  Queen  had  pene- 
trated me.  The  Princess  spoke  feelings  I  could  not  expect, 
by  the  immediate  glistening  of  her  soft  eyes.  She  conde- 
scended to  express  lier  concern  at  my  retiring ;  but  most 
kindly  added,  "  However,  Miss  Burney,  you  have  this  to 
comfort  you,  go  when  you  will,  that  your  behavior  has  been 
most  perfectly  honorable." 

This,  my  last  day  at  Windsor,  was  filled  with  nothing 
but  packing,  leave-taking,  bills-paying,  and  lessoning  to 
Mile.  Jacobi,  who  adhered  to  my  side  through  everything, 
and  always  with  an  interest  that  made  its  own  way  for  her. 
All  the  people  I  had  to  settle  with  poured  forth  for  my 
better  health  good  wishes  without  end;  but  amongst  the 
most  unwilling  for  my  retreat  stood  poor  Mrs.  Astley ;  in- 
deed she  quite  saddened  me  by  her  sadness,  and  by  the 
recollections  of  that  sweet  and  angelic  being  her  mistress, 
who  had  so  solaced  my  early  days  at  that  place.  Mr. 
Bryant,  too,  came  this  same  morning  ;  he  had  an  audience 


179].]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  231 

of  the  Queen  :  he  knew  notliing  previously  ot  my  design. 
He  seemed  quite  thunderstruck.  "  Bless  me  ! "  he  cried,  in 
his  short  and  simple  but  expressive  manner ;  "  so  I  shall 
never  see  you  again  —  never  have  the  honor  to  dine  in  that 
apartment  with  you  more  !  "  &c.  I  would  have  kept  him 
to  dinner  this  last  day,  but  he  was  not  well,  and  would 
not  be  persuaded.  He  would  not,  however,  bid  me  adieu, 
but  promised  to  endeavor  to  see  me  some  time  at  Chelsea. 

I  had  tlien  a  little  note  from  Miss  Gomme,  desiring  to 
see  me  in  the  garden.  She  had  just  gathered  the  news. 
I  do  not  believe  any  one  was  more  disposed  to  be  sorry,  if 
the  sight  and  sense  of  my  illness  had  not  checked  her  con- 
cern. She  highly  approved  the  step  I  was  taking,  and  was 
most  cordial  and  kind. 

Miss  Planta  came  to  tell  me  she  must  decline  dining 
with  me,  as  she  felt  she  should  cry  all  dinner-time,  in  re- 
flecting upon  its  being  our  last  meal  together  at  Windsor, 
and  this  might  affront  Mile.  Jacobi. 

The  Queen  deigned  to  come  once  more  to  my  apartment 
this  afternoon.  She  brought  me  the  debt.  It  was  a  most 
mixed  feeling  with  which  I  now  saw  her. 

In  the  evening  came  Madame  de  la  Fife.  I  need  not  tell 
you,  I  imagine,  that  her  expressions  were  of  "  la  plus  vive 
douleur ;  "  yet  she  owned  she  could  not  wonder  my  father 
should  try  what  another  life  would  do  for  me.  My  dear 
Mrs.  de  Luc  came  next ;  she,  alone,  knew  of  this  while 
impending.  She  rejoiced  the  time  of  deliverance  was  ar- 
rived, for  she  had  often  feared  I  should  outstay  my  strength, 
and  sink  while  the  matter  was  arranging.  She  rejoiced, 
however,  with  tears  in  her  kind  eyes ;  and,  indeed,  I  took 
leave  of  her  with  true  regret.  It  was  nine  o'clock  before 
I  could  manage  to  go  down  the  garden  to  the  Lower  Lodge 
to  pay  my  duty  to  the  younger  Princesses,  whom  I  could 
not  else  see  at  all,  as  they  never  go  to  town  for  the  court- 


232  DIAEY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

days.  I  went  first  upstairs  to  Miss  Gomme,  and  had  the 
mortification  to  learn  that  the  Princess  Amelia  was  already 
gone  to  bed.  This  extremely  grieved  me.  When  or  how 
I  may  see  her  lovely  little  Highness  more,  Heaven  only 
knows ! 

I  waited  with  Miss  Goldsworthy  till  the  Princesses  Mary 
and  Sophia  came  from  the  Upper  Lodge,  which  is  when  the 
King  and  Queen  go  to  supper.  Their  Royal  Highnesses 
were  gracious  even  to  kindness  ;  they  shook  my  hand  again 
and  again,  and  wished  me  better  health,  and  all  happiness, 
with  the  sweetest  earnestness.  Princess  Mary  repeatedly 
desired  to  see  me  whenever  I  came  to  the  Queen's  house, 
and  condescended  to  make  me  as  repeatedly  promise  that 
I  would  not  fail.  I  was  deeply  touched  by  their  goodness, 
and  by  leaving  them. 

Wednesday. — In  the  morning  Mrs.  Evans,  the  house- 
keeper, came  to  take  leave  of  me ;  and  the  housemaid  of 
my  apartment,  who,  poor  girl !  cried  bitterly  that  I  was 
going  to  give  place  to  a  foreigner  ;  for  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's 
severity  with  servants  has  made  all  Germans  feared  in  the 
house. 

Oh,  but  let  me  first  mention  that,  when  1  came  from  the 
Lower  Lodge,  late  as  it  was,  I  determined  to  see  my  old 
friends  the  equerries,  and  not  quit  the  place  without  bid- 
ding them  adieu.  I  had  never  seen  them  since  I  had  dared 
mention  my  designed  retreat.  I  told  William,  therefore, 
to  watch  their  return  from  the  Castle,  and  to  give  my  com- 
pliments to  either  Colonel  Gwynn  or  Colonel  Goldsworthy, 
and  an  invitation  to  my  apartment. 

Colonel  Goldsworthy  came  instantly,  I  told  him  I  could 
not  think  of  leaving  Windsor  without  offering  first  my  good 
wishes  to  all  the  household.  He  said  that,  when  my  in- 
tended departure  had  been  published,  he  and  all  the  gentle- 
men then  with  him  had  declared  it  ought  to  have  taken 


1791.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY,  233 

place  six  months  ago.  He  was  extremely  courteous,  and  I 
begged  him  to  bring  to  me  the  rest  of  his  companions  that 
were  known  to  me. 

He  immediately  fetched  Colonel  Gwynn,  General  Gren- 
ville,  Colonel  Eamsden,  and  Colonel  Manners.  This  was 
the  then  party.  I  told  him  I  sent  to  beg  their  blessing 
upon  my  departure.  They  were  all  much  pleased,  appa- 
rently, that  I  had  not  made  my  exit  without  seeing  them  : 
they  all  agreed  in  the  urgency  of  the  measure,  and  we  ex- 
changed good  wishes  most  cordially. 

My  Wednesday  morning's  attendance  upon  the  Queen 
was  a  melancholy  office.  Miss  Golds  worthy  as  well  as 
Miss  Gomme  came  early  to  take  another  farewell.  I  had 
not  time  to  make  any  visits  in  the  town,  but  left  commis- 
sions with  Mrs.  de  Luc  and  Madame  de  la  Fite.  Even  Lady 
Charlotte  Finch  I  could  not  call  upon,  though  she  had 
made  me  many  kind  visits  since  my  illness.  I  wrote  to 
her,  however,  by  Miss  Gomme,  to  thank  her,  and  bid  her 
adieu. 

Thursday,  July.Tth.  —  This,  my  last  day  of  office,  was 
big  and  busy,  —  joyful,  yet  affecting  to  me  in  a  high  degree. 

In  the  morning,  before  I  left  Kew,  I  had  my  last  inter- 
view with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  She  was  very  kind  in  it, 
desiring  to  see  me  whenever  I  could  in  town,  during  her 
residence  at  the  Queen's  house,  and  to  hear  from  me  by 
letter  meanwhile. 

She  then  much  surprised  me  by  an  offer  of  succeeding 
to  her  own  place,  when  it  was  vacated  either  by  her  re- 
tiring or  her  death.  This  was,  indeed,  a  mark  of  favor 
and  confidence  I  had  not  expected.  I  declined,  however, 
to  enter  upon  the  subject,  as  the  manner  in  which  she 
opened  it  made  it  very  solemn,  and,  to  her,  very  affecting. 

She  would  take  no  leave  of  me,  but  wished  me  better 
hastily,  and,  saying  we  should  soon  meet,  she  hurried  sud- 


234  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1791. 

denly  out  of  the  room.  Poor  woman !  If  lier  temper 
were  not  so  irascible,  I  really  believe  her  heart  would  be 
by  no  means  wanting  in  kindness. 

I  then  took  leave  of  Mrs.  Sandys,  giving  her  a  token  of 
remembrance  in  return  for  her  constant  good  behavior,  and 
she  showed  marks  of  regard,  and  of  even  grief,  I  was  sorry 
to  receive,  as  I  could  so  ill  return. 

But  the  tragedy  of  tragedies  was  parting  with  Goter : 
that  poor  girl  did  nothing  but  cry  incessantly  from  the  time 
slie  knew  of  our  separation.  I  w^as  very  sorry  to  have  no 
place  to  recommend  her  to,  though  I  believe  she  may  rather 
benefit  by  a  vacation  that  carries  her  to  her  excellent 
father  and  mother,  who  teach  lier  nothing  but  good.  I  did 
what  I  could  to  soften  the  blow,  by  every  exertion  in  my 
power  in  all  ways;  for  it  was  impossible  to  be  unmoved  at 
her  violence  of  sorrow.  I  then  took  leave  of  Kew  Palace 
—  the  same  party  again  accompanying  me,  for  the  last  time, 
in  a  Eoyal  vehicle  going  by  the  name  of  Miss  Burney's 
coach. 

I  should  mention  that  the  Queen  graciously  put  into  my 
hands  the  power  of  giving  every  possible  comfort  and  kind 
assurances  of  encouragement  to  Mile.  Jacobi  and  her  poor 
little  Bettina ;  and  all  was  arranged  in  the  best  manner  for 
their  accommodation  and  ease.  Her  Majesty  made  me 
also  the  happy  conveyancer  of  various  presents  to  them 
both,  and  gave  to  me  the  regulation  of  their  proceedings. 

When  we  arrived  in  town  I  took  leave  of  Mr.  de  Luc. 
I  believe  he  was  as  much  inclined  to  be  sorry  as  the  vis- 
ible necessity  of  the  parting  would  permit  him.  For  me, 
I  hope  to  see  every  one  of  the  establishment  hereafter,  far 
more  comfortably  than  ever  I  have  been  able  to  do  during 
the  fatigues  of  a  life  to  which  I  was  so  ill  suited. 

I  come  now  near  the  close  of  my  Court  career.  At  St. 
James's  all  was  graciousness  ;  and  my  Ptoyal  mistress  gave 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  235 

me  to  understand  slie  would  have  me  stay  to  assist  at  her 
toilet  after  the  drawing-room  ;  and  much  delighted  me  by 
desiring  my  attendance  on  the  Thursday  fortnight,  when 
she  came  again  to  town.  This  lightened  the  parting  in  the 
pleasantest  manner  possible.  When  the  Queen  commanded 
me  to  follow  her  to  her  closet  I  was,  indeed,  in  much  emo- 
tion ;  but  I  told  her  that,  as  what  had  passed  from  Mrs. 
Scliwellenberg  in  the  morning  had  given  me  to  understand 
her  Majesty  was  fixed  in  her  munificent  intention,  not- 
withstanding what  I  had  most  unaffectedly  urged  against 
it  —  "Certainly,"  she  interrupted,  "  I  shall  certainly  do  it." 

"  Yet  so  little,"  I  continued,  "  had  I  thought  it  right  to 
dwell  upon  such  an  expectation,  that,  in  the  belief  your 
Majesty  would  yet  take  it  into  further  consideration,  I  had 
not  even  written  it  to  my  father."  "  Your  father,"  she 
again  interrupted  me,  "  has  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  it  is 
solely  from  me  to  you." 

"  Let  me  then  humbly  entreat,"  I  cried,  "  still  in  some 
measure  to  be  considered  as  a  servant  of  your  Majesty, 
either  as  reader,  or  to  assist  occasionally  if  Mile.  Jacobi 
should  be  ill."  She  looked  most  graciously  pleased,  and 
immediately  closed  in  with  the  proposal,  saying,  "  When 
your  health  is  restored  —  perhaps  sometimes." 

I  then  fervently  poured  forth  my  thanks  for  all  her 
goodness,  and  my  prayers  for  her  felicity.  She  had  her 
handkerchief  in  her  hand  or  at  her  eyes  the  whole  time. 
I  was  so  much  moved  by  her  condescending  kindness,  that 
as  soon  as  I  got  out  of  tlie  closet  I  nearly  sobbed.  I  went 
to  help  Mile.  Jacobi  to  put  up  the  jewels,  that  my  emotion 
miglit  the  less  be  observed.  Tlie  King  then  came  into  the 
room.  He  immediately  advanced  to  the  window,  where  I 
stood,  to  speak  to  me..  I  was  not  then  able  to  comport 
myself  steadily.  I  was  forced  to  turn  my  head  away  from 
him.     He  stood  still  and  silent  for  some  minutes,  waiting 


236  DIARY   AND   LETTEKS  [1791. 

to  see  if  I  should  turn  about ;  but  I  could  not  recover 
myself  sufficiently  to  face  liim,  strange  as  it  was  to  do 
otherwise  :  and  perceiving  me  quite  overcome  he  walked 
away,  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  His  kindness,  his  goodness, 
his  benignity,  never  shall  I  forget  —  never  think  of  but 
with  fresh  gratitude  and  reverential  affection. 

They  all  were  now  going  —  I  took,  for  the  last  time,  the 
cloak  of  the  Queen,  and,  putting  it  over  her  shoulders, 
slightly  ventured  to  press  them,  earnestly,  though  in  a  low 
voice,  saying,  "  God  Almighty  bless  your  Majesty  ! "  She 
turned  round,  and,  putting  her  hand  upon  my  ungloved 
arm,  pressed  it  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  said,  "  May 
you  be  happy ! "  She  left  me  overwhelmed  Avith  tender 
gratitude.  The  three  eldest  Princesses  were  in  the  next 
room:  they  ran  in  to  me  the  moment  the  Queen  went 
onward.  Princess  Augusta  and  Princess  Elizabeth  each 
took  a  hand,  and  the  Princess  Eoyal  put  hers  over  them. 
I  could  speak  to  none  of  them ;  but  they  repeated  "  I 
wish  you  happy  !  —  I  wish  you  health  ! "  again  and  again, 
with  the  sweetest  eagerness.     They  then  set  off  for  Kew. 

Here,  therefore,  end  my  Court  Annals  ;  after  having 
lived  in  the  service  of  Her  Majesty  five  years  within  ten 
days  — from  July  17,  1786,  to  July  7,  1791. 


1791. J  OF  MADAME  D'AKBLAY.  237 


CHAPTER    V. 

From  July,  1791,  to  January,  1793. 

Chelsea  College. 

Once  more  I  have  the  blessing  to  address  my  beloved 
friends  from  the  natal  home  ! — with  a  satisfaction,  a  seren- 
ity of  heart  immeasurable.  All  smaller  evils  shall  now 
give  way  to  tlie  one  great  good ;  and  I  shall  not,  I  hope,  be 
forgetful,  when  the  world  wags  ill,  that  scarce  any  mis- 
fortune, scarce  misery  itself,  can  so  wastefuUy  desolate  the 
very  soul  of  my  existence  as  a  banishment,  even  the  most 
honorable,  from  those  I  love. 

But  I  must  haste  to  the  present  time,  and  briefly  give 
the  few  facts  that  occurred  before  my  Susanna  came  to 
greet  my  restoration,  and  the  few  that  preceded  my  jour- 
ney to  the  south-west  afterwards,  in  July. 

My  dear  father  was  waiting  for  me  in  my  apartment  at 
St.  James's  when  their  Majesties  and  their  fair  Eoyal 
daughters  were  gone.  He  brought  me  home,  and  welcomed 
me  most  sweetly.  My  heart  was  a  little  sad,  in  spite  of 
its  contentment.  My  joy  in  quitting  my  place  extended 
not  to  quitting  the  King  and  Queen  ;  and  the  final  marks 
of  their  benign  favor  had  deeply  impressed  me.  My  mother 
received  me  according  to  my  wishes,  and  Sarah  most  cord- 
ially. 

My  dear  James  and  Charles  speedily  came  to  see  me ; 
and  one  precious  half-day  I  was  indulged  with  my  kind 
Mr.  Locke  and  his  Fredy.  If  I  had  been  stouter  and 
stronger  in  health,  I  should  then  have  been  almost  flightily 


238  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

happy ;  but  the  weakness  of  the  frame  still  kept  the  rest 
in  order.  My  ever-kind  Miss  Cambridge  was  also  amongst 
the  foremost  to  hasten  with  congratulations  on  my  return 
to  my  old  ways,  and  to  make  me  promise  to  visit  Twick- 
enham after  my  projected  tour  with  Mrs.  Ord. 

I  could  myself  undertake  no  visiting  at  this  time ;  rest 
and  quiet  being  quite  essential  to  my  recovery.  But  my 
father  did  the  honors  for  me  amongst  those  who  had  been 
most  interested  in  my  resignation.  He  called  instantly 
upon  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds  and  Miss  Palmer,  and  Mr. 
Burke  ;  and  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Walpole,  Mr.  Seward,  Mrs. 
Crewe,  Mr.  Wyndham,  and  my  Worcester  uncle.  Mr. 
Walpole  wrote  the  most  charming  of  answers,  in  the  gal- 
lantry of  the  old  court,  and  with  all  its  wit,  concluding 
with  a  warm  invitation  to  Strawberry  Hill.  Sir  Joshua 
and  Miss  Palmer  sent  me  every  species  of  kind  exultation. 
Mr.  Burke  was  not  in  town.  Mr.  Seward  wrote  very 
heartily  and  cordially,  and  came  also  when  my  Susanna 
was  here.  Mrs.  Crewe  immediately  pressed  me  to  come 
and  recruit  at  Crewe  Hall  in  Cheshire,  where  she  promised 
me  repose,  and  good  air  and  good  society. 


Mr.  Wyndham  to  Br.  Burney. 

July,  1791. 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  am  shocked  that  circumstances  of  different 

sorts  —  among  which  one  has  been  the  hope  of  visiting  you 

at  Chelsea  —  should  have  delayed  so  long  my  acknov/ledg- 

ments  for  your  very  kind  letter.     I  not  only  received  with 

infinite  satisfaction  the  intelligence  which  it  contained,  but 

1  was  gratified  by  being  distinguished  as  one  to  whom  such 

intelligence  would   be   satisfactory.     It  was  the  common 

cause  of  every  one  interested  in  the  concerns  of  genius 

and  literature.     I  have  been  alarmed  of  late,  however,  by 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  239 

hearing  that  the  evil  has  not  ended  with  the  occasion,  but 
that  Miss  B.'s  health  is  still  far  from  being  re-established. 
I  hope  the  fact  is  not  true  in  the  extent  in  which  I  heard 
it  stated.  There  are  few  of  those  who  only  admire  Miss 
Burney's  talents  at  a  distance,  and  have  so  little  the  honor 
of  her  acquaintance,  who  feel  more  interested  in  her  wel- 
fare ;  nor  could  I  possibly  be  insensible  to  a  concern  in 
which  you  must  be  so  deeply  affected. 

I  should  be  very  happy  if,  at  any  time  when  you  are  in 
this  neighborhood,  you  would  give  me  the  chance  of  seeing 
you,  and  of  hearing,  I  hope,  a  more  favorable  account  than 
seemed  to  be  the  amount  of  what  I  heard  lately. 

AV.  W. 

SiDMOUTH,  Devonshire. 

Monday,  August  1st.  —  I  have  now  been  a  week  out 
upon  my  travels,  but  have  not  had  the  means  or  the  time, 
till  this  moment,  to  attempt  their  brief  recital. 

Mrs.  Ord  called  for  me  about  ten  in  the  morning.  I  left 
my  dearest  father  with  the  less  regret,  as  his  own  journey 
to  Mrs.  Crewe  was  very  soon  to  take  place.  It  was  a 
terribly  rainy  morning,  but  I  was  eager  not  to  postpone 
the  excursion.  As  we  travelled  on  towards  Staines,  I  could 
scarcely  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  I  was  but  making 
again  my  usual  journey  to  Windsor;  and  I  could  with 
difficulty  forbear  calling  Mrs.  Ord  Miss  Planta  during  the 
whole  of  that  well-known  road.  I  did  not,  indeed,  take 
her  maid,  who  was  our  third  in  the  coach,  for  Mr.  de  Luc, 
or  Mr.  Turbulent ;  but  the  place  she  occupied  made  me 
think  much  more  of  those  I  so  long  had  had  for  my  vis-d- 
vis  than  of  herself. 

We  went  on  no  farther  than  to  Bagshot ;  thirty  miles 
was  the  extremity  of  our  powers ;  but  I  bore  them  very 
tolerably,  though  variably.     We  put  up  at  the  best  iim. 


240  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

very  early,  and  then  inquired  what  we  could  see  in  the 
town  and  neighborhood.  "  Nothing  ! "  was  the  concise  an- 
swer of  a  staring  housemaid.  We  determined,  therefore, 
to  prowl  to  the  churchyard,  and  read  the  tombstone  in- 
scriptions ;  but  when  we  asked  the  way,  the  same  woman, 
staring  still  more  wonderingly,  exclaimed,  "  Church ! 
there 's  no  church  nigh  here !  There 's  the  Prince  of 
Wales's,  just  past  the  turning  —  you  may  go  and  see 
that,  if  you  will ! " 

So  on  we  walked  towards  this  hunting  villa :  but  after 
toiling  up  a  long  unweeded  avenue,  we  had  no  sooner 
opened  the  gate  to  the  parks  than  a  few  score  of  dogs, 
which  were  lying  in  ambush,  set  up  so  prodigious  a  variety 
of  magnificent  barkings,  springing  forward  at  the  same 
time,  that,  content  with  having  caught  a  brief  view  of  the 
seat,  we  left  them  to  lord  it  over  the  domain  they  regarded 
as  their  own,  and,  with  all  due  submission,  pretty  hastily 
shut  the  gate,  without  troubling  them  to  give  us  another 

salute.     We  returned  to  the  inn,  and  read  B 's  "  Lives 

of  the  Family  of  the  Boyles." 

Tuesday,  August  2nd. — We  proceeded  to  Farnham  to 
breakfast,  and  thence  walked  to  the  Castle.  The  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  Mrs.  North,  and  the  whole  family,  are  gone 
abroad.  The  Castle  is  a  good  old  building,  with  as  much 
of  modern  elegance  and  fashion  intermixed  in  its  alter- 
ations and  fitting  up  as  Mrs.  North  could  possibly  contrive 
to  weave  into  its  ancient  grandeur.  They  date  the  Castle 
from  King  Stephen,  in  whose  reign,  as  Norbury  will  tell 
us,  the  land  was  almost  covered  with  such  strong  edifices, 
from  his  imprudent  permission  of  building  them,  granted 
to  appease  the  Barons,  who  were  turned  aside  from  the 
Empress  Maud.  I  wished  I  could  have  climbed  to  the  top 
of  an  old  tower,  much  out  of  repair,  but  so  high,  that  I 
fancied  I  could  thence  have  espied  the  hills  of  Norbury. 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  241 

However,  I  was  ready  to  fall  already,  from  only  ascending 
the  slope  to  reach  the  Castle. 

Thursday,  August  4th.  —  We  proceeded  to  breakfast 
at  Roraney.  What  a  contrast  this  journey  to  that  I  took 
two  years  ago  in  attendance  upon  her  Majesty  !  The 
roads  now  so  empty,  the  towns  so  quiet ;  and  tlien,  what 
multitudes  !  what  tumults  of  joy  !  and  how  graciou.sly  wel- 
comed ! 

We  went  on  to  dine  at  Salisbury,  a  city  which,  with 
their  Majesties,  I  could  not  see  for  people.  It  seemed  to 
have  neither  houses  nor  walls,  but  to  be  composed  solely 
of  faces.  We  strolled  about  the  town,  but  the  Cathedral 
was  shut  up  to  be  repaired,  much  to  our  regret. 

Friday,  August  5th.  —  We  went  to  Stonehenge.  Here 
I  Was  prodigiously  disappointed,  at  first,  by  the  huge 
masses  of  stone  so  unaccountably  piled  at  the  summit  of 
Salisbury  Plain.  However,  we  alighted,  and  the  longer  I 
surveyed  and  considered  them,  the  more  augmented  my 
wonder  and  diminished  my  disappointment. 

We  then  went  on  to  Wilton.  There  I  renewed  my  de- 
light over  the  exquisite  Vandykes,  and  with  the  statues, 
busts,  and  pictures,  which  again  I  sighingly  quitted,  with 
a  longing  wish  I  might  ever  pass  under  that  roof  time 
enough  to  see  them  more  deliberately.  We  stopped  in  the 
Hans  Holbein  porch,  and  upon  the  Inigo  Jones  bridge,  as 
long  as  we  could  stand,  after  standing  and  staring  and 
straining  our  eyes  till  our  guide  was  quite  fatigued.  'T  is 
a  noble  collection ;  and  how  might  it  be  enjoyed  if,  as  an 
arch  old  laboring  man  told  us,  fine  folks  lived  as  they 
ought  to  do ! 

Tuesday,  August  9th.  —  We  travelled  to  Sidmouth. 
And  here  we  have  taken  up  our  abode  for  a  week.  It  was 
all  devoted  to  rest  and  sea-air. 

Sidmouth  is  built  in  a  vale  by  the  sea-coast,  and  the 

VOL.   II.  16 


242  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  |1791, 

terrace  for  company  is  nearer  to  the  ocean  than  any  I  have 
elsewhere  seen,  and  therefore  both  more  pleasant  and  more 
commodious.  The  little  bay  is  of  a  most  peaceful  kind, 
and  the  sea  as  calm  and  gentle  as  the  Tlmmes.  I  longed 
to  bathe,  but  I  am  in  no  state  now  to  take  liberties  with 
myself,  and,  having  no  advice  at  hand,  I  ran  no  risk. 

Nothing  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure  since  I  came  to 
this  place  as  our  landlady's  account  of  her  own  and  her 
town's  loyalty.  She  is  a  baker,  a  poor  widow  woman,  she 
told  us,  who  lost  her  husband  by  his  fright  in  thinking  he 
saw  a  ghost,  just  after  her  mother  was  drowned.  She 
carries  on  the  business,  with  the  help  of  her  daughter,  a 
girl  about  fifteen.  We  could  get  no  other  lodgings,  so  full 
was  the  town ;  and  these  are  near  the  sea,  though  other- 
wise not  desirable. 

I  inquired  of  her  if  she  had  seen  the  Eoyal  Family 
when  they  visited  Devonshire?  "Yes,  sure,  ma'am  !"  she 
cried ;  "  there  was  ne'er  a  soul  left  in  all  this  place  for 
going  out  to  see  'em.  My  daughter  and  I  rode  a  double 
horse,  and  we  went  to  Sir  George  Young's,  and  got  into  the 
park,  for  we  knew  the  housekeeper,  and  she  gave  my 
daughter  a  bit  to  taste  of  the  King's  dinner  when  they  had 
all  done,  and  she  said  she  might  talk  on  it  when  she  was 
a  old  woman." 

I  asked  another  good  woman,  who  came  in  for  some 
flour,  if  she  had  been  of  tlie  party  ?  "No,"  she  said,  "  she 
was  ill,  but  she  had  had  holiday  enough  upon  the  King's 
recovery,  for  there  was  such  a  holiday  then  as  the  like  was 
not  in  all  England." 

"  Yes,  sure,  ma'am,"  cried  the  poor  baker-woman,  "  we 
all  did  our  best  then,  for  there  was  ne'er  a  town  in  all 
England  like  Sidmouth  for  rejoicing.  .  Why,  I  baked  a 
hundred  and  ten  penny  loaves  for  the  poor,  and  so  did 
every  baker  in  town,  and  there 's  three ;  and  the  gentry 


1791.]  OF   MADAIVIE   D'ARBLAY.  243 

subscribed  for  it.  And  the  gentry  roasted  a  biiUock  and 
cut  it  all  up,  and  we  all  eat  it,  in  the  midst  of  the  rejoicing. 
And  then  we  had  such  a  fine  sermon,  it  made  us  all  cry ; 
there  was  a  more  tears  shed  than  ever  was  known,  all  for 
over-joy.  And  they  had  the  King  drawed,  and  dressed  up 
all  in  gold  and  laurels,  and  they  put  un  in  a  coach  and 
eight  horses,  and  carried  un  about ;  aud  all  the  grand  gen- 
tlemen in  the  town,  and  all  abouts,  come  in  their  own  car- 
riages to  join.  And  they  had  the  finest  band  of  music  in 
all  England  singing  '  God  save  the  King,'  and  every  soul 
joined  in  the  chorus,  and  all  not  so  much  because  he  was 
a  King,  but  because  they  said  a  was  such  a  worthy  gentle- 
man, and  that  the  like  of  him  was  never  known  in  this 
nation  before ;  so  we  all  subscribed  for  the  illuminations 
for  that  reason,  —  some  a  shilling,  some  a  guinea,  and  some 
a  penny,  —  for  no  one  begrudged  it,  as  a  was  such  a 
worthy  person." 

The  other  woman  and  the  daughter  then  united  in  the  re- 
cital, and  gave  it  with  such  heartiness  and  simplicity,  that 
at  last  I  was  forced  to  leave  them  a  little  abruptly,  for  I 
fairly  lost  all  voice  to  answer  them,  from  the  lively  sensa- 
tions of  pleasure  which  such  proofs  of  the  popularity  of 
the  good  and  dear  King  always  give  me.  The  two  women 
both  cried  also,  and  that  was  far  more  wonderful. 

The  good  Mrs.  Dare  has  purchased  images  of  all  the 
Royal  Family,  in  her  great  zeal,  and  I  had  tliem  in  my 
apartment  —  King,  Queen,  Prince  of  Wales,  Dukes  of 
York,  Clarence,  Kent,  Sussex,  Cumberland,  and  Cambridge  ; 
Princess  Royal,  and  Princesses  Augusta,  Elizabeth,  Mary, 
Sophia,  and  Amelia.     God  bless  them  all ! 

Queen  Square,  Bath. 

Saturday,  August  20th. — Bath  is  extremely  altered 
since  I  last  visited  it.    Its  circumference  is  perhaps  trebled ; 


244  DIARY    AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

but  its  buildings  are  so  unfinished,  so  spread,  so  everywhere 
beginning  and  nowhere  ending,  that  it  looks  rather  like  a 
space  of  ground  lately  fixed  upon  for  erecting  a  town,  than 
a  town  itself,  of  so  many  years'  duration. 

It  is  beautiful  and  wonderful  throughout.  The  hills  are 
built  up  and  down,  and  the  vales  so  stocked  with  streets 
and  houses,  that,  in  some  places,  from  the  ground-floor  on 
one  side  a  street,  you  cross  over  to  the  attic  of  your  oppo- 
site neighbor.  The  white  stone,  where  clean,  has  a  beauti- 
ful effect,  and,  even  where  worn,  a  grand  one.  But  I  must 
not  write  a  literal  Bath  Guide,  and  a  figurative  one  Anstey 
has  all  to  himself.  I  will  only  tell  you  in  brief,  yet  in 
truth,  it  looks  a  city  of  palaces,  a  town  of  hills,  and  a  hill 
of  towns. 

Oh,  how  have  I  thought,  in  patrolling  it,  of  my  poor  Mrs. 
Thrale  !  I  went  to  look  (and  sigh  at  the  siglit)  at  the 
house  on  the  Nortli  Parade  where  we  dwelt,  and  almost 
every  old  place  brings  to  my  mind  some  scene  in  which  we 
were  engaged ;  —  in  the  Circus,  the  houses  tlien  Mrs. 
Montagu's  and  Mrs.  Cholmondely's  ;  in  Brock-street,  Mrs. 
Vanbrugh's ;  in  Church-street,  Mrs.  Larabart's ;  in  the 
Crescent,  Mr.  Whalley's ;  in  Alfred-street,  Mrs.  Bowdler's ; 
at  the  Belvidere,  Mrs.  Byron,  Miss  Leigh,  and  Lord  Mul- 
grave,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Besides  the  constant  sadness  of  all  recollections  that 
bring  fresh  to  my  thoughts  a  breach  with  a  friend  once  so 
loved,  how  are  most  of  the  families  altered  and  dispersed 
in  these  absent  ten  years  !  From  Mrs.  Montagu's,  Miss 
Gregory,  by  a  marriage  disapproved,  is  removed  for  ever ; 
from  Mrs.  Cholmondely's,  by  the  severer  blow  of  death,  Lady 
Mulgrave  is  separated ;  Mrs.  Lambart,  by  the  same  blow, 
has  lost  the  brother.  Sir  Philip  Gierke,  who  brought  us  to 
her  acquaintance ;  Mr.  Bowdler  and  his  excellent  eldest 
daughter  have  yielded  to  the  same  stroke  ;  Mrs.  Byron  has 


1791.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  245 

followed ;  Miss  Leigh  has  been  married  aud  widowed ; 
Lord  Mulgrave  has  had  the  same  hard  lot ;  and,  besides 
these,  Mrs.  Cotton,  Mrs.  Thrale's  aunt.  Lady  Millar,  and 
Mr.  Thrale  himself,  are  no  more. 

In  another  ten  years,  another  writer,  perhaps,  may  make 
a  list  to  us  of  yet  deeper  interest.  Well,  we  live  but  to 
die,  and  are  led  but  to  follow.  'T  is  best,  therefore,  to 
think  of  these  matters  till  they  occur  with  slackened 
emotion. 

August  31st.  —  I  have  kept  no  regular  memorandums  ; 
but  I  shall  give  you  the  history  of  the  Bath  fortnight  of 
this  month  as  it  rises  in  my  memory. 

Soon  after  we  came,  while  I  was  finishing  some  letters, 
and  quite  alone,  Mrs.  Ord's  servant  brought  me  word  Lady 
Spencer  would  ask  me  how  I  did,  if  I  was  well  enough  to 
receive  her.     Of  course  I  begged  she  might  come  upstairs. 

I  have  met  her  two  or  three  times  at  my  dearest  jVIrs. 
Delany's,  where  I  met,  also,  with  marked  civilities  from  her. 
I  knew  she  was  here,  with  her  unhappy  daughter,  Lady 
Duncannon,  whom  she  assiduously  nurses,  aided  by  her 
more  celebrated  other  daughter,  the  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire. 

She  made  a  very  flattering  apology  for  coming,  and  then 
began  to  converse  upon  my  beloved  Mrs.  Delany,  and 
thence  to  subjects  more  general.  She  is  a  sensible  and 
sagacious  character,  intelligent,  polite,  and  agreeable ; 
and  she  spends  her  life  in  such  exercises  of  active  charity 
and  zeal,  that  she  would  be  one  of  the  most  exemplary 
women  of  rank  of  the  age,  had  she  less  of  show  in  her  ex- 
ertions, and  more  of  forbearance  in  publishing  them.  My 
dear  oracle,  however,  once  said,  vain-glory  must  not  be  de- 
spised or  discouraged,  when  it  operated  but  as  a  human 
engine  for  great  or  good  deeds. 

She  spoke  of  Lady  Duncannon's  situation  with  much 


246  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

sorrow,  and  expatiated  upon  her  resignation  to  lier  fate,  her 
prepared  state  for  death,  and  the  excellence  of  her  princi- 
ples, with  an  eagerness  and  feeling  that  had  quite  over- 
whelmed me  with  surprise  and  embarrassment. 

Her  other  daughter  she  did  not  mention ;  but  her  grand- 
daughter Lady  Georgiana  Cavendish,  she  spoke  of  with 
rapture.  Miss  Trimmer,  also,  the  eldest  daughtei;  of  the 
exceeding  worthy  Mrs.  Trimmer,  she  named  with  a  regard 
that  seemed  quite  affectionate.  She  told  me  she  had  the 
care  of  the  young  Lady  Cavendishes,  but  was  in  every  re- 
spect treated  as  if  one  of  themselves. 

The  name  of  Mrs.  Trimmer  led  us  to  talk  of  the  Sunday- 
schools  and  Schools  of  Industry.  They  are  both  in  a  very 
flourishing  state  at  Bath,  and  Lady  Spencer  has  taken  one 
school  under  her  own  immediate  patronage. 

The  next  day,  of  course,  I  waited  on  her :  she  was  out. 
But  the  following  day,  which  was  Sunday,  she  sent  me  a 
message  upstairs  to  say  she  would  take  me  to  see  the 
Sunday-school,  if  I  felt  well  enough  to  desire  it. 

She  waited  below  for  my  answer,  which,  of  course,  I  car- 
ried down  in  my  proper  person,  ready  hatted  and  cloaked. 

It  was  a  most  interesting  sight.  Such  a  number  of  poor 
innocent  children,  all  put  into  a  way  of  right,  most  taken 
immediately  from  every  way  of  wrong,  lifting  up  their  little 
hands,  and  joining  in  those  prayers  and  supplications  for 
mercy  and  grace,  which,  even  if  they  understand  not,  must 
at  least  impress  them  with  a  general  idea  of  religion,  a 
dread  of  evil,  and  a  love  of  good  ;  it  was,  indeed,  a  sight  to 
expand  the  best  hopes  of  the  heart. 

I  felt  very  much  obliged  to  my  noble  conductress,  with 
whom  I  had  much  talk  upon  the  subject  in  our  walk  back. 
Her  own  little  school,  of  course,  engaged  us  the  most.  She 
told  me  that  the  next  day  six  of  her  little  girls  were  to  be 
new-clothed,  by  herself,  in  honor  of  the  birthday  of  the 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  247 

Duke  of  Devonshire's  second  daughter,  Lady  Harriot  Cav- 
endish, who  was  to  come  to  her  grand-marama's  house  to 
see  the  ceremony.  To  this  sight  she  also  invited  me,  and 
I  accepted  her  kindness  with  pleasure. 

The  following  day,  therefore,  Monday,  I  obeyed  Lady 
Spencer's  time,  and  at  six  o'clock  was  at  her  house  in  Gay- 
street.  My  good  Mrs.  Ord,  to  make  my  leaving  her  quite 
easy,  engaged  herself  to  go  at  the  same  hour  to  visit  Mrs. 
Hartley. 

Lady  Spencer  had  Mrs.  Mary  Pointz  and  Miss  Trimmer 
with  her;  and  tlie  six  children,  just  prepared  for  Lady 
Harriot,  in  their  new  gowns,  were  dismissed  from  their  ex- 
amination, upon  my  arrival,  and  sent  downstairs  to  await 
the  coming  of  her  little  ladyship,  who,  having  dined  with 
her  mamma,  was  later  than  her  appointment. 

Lady  Spencer  introduced  me  to  Miss  Trimmer,  who  is  a 
pleasing,  but  not  pretty  young  woman,  and  seems  born  with 
her  excellent  mother's  amiableness  and  serenity  of  mind. 

Lady  Georgiana  is  just  eight  years  old.  She  has  a  fine, 
animated,  sweet,  and  handsome  countenance,  and  the  form 
and  figure  of  a  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age.  Lady 
Harriot,  who  this  day  was  six  years  old,  is  by  no  means  so 
handsome,  but  has  an  open  and  pleasing  countenance,  and 
a  look  of  the  most  happy  disposition.  Lady  Spencer 
brought  her  to  me  immediately. 

I  inquired  after  the  young  Marquis  of  Hartington.  Lady 
Spencer  told  me  they  never  trusted  him  from  the  Upper 
Walks,  near  his  house,  in  Marlborough-buildings.  He  has  a 
house  of  his  own  near  the  Duke's,  and  a  carriage  entirely  to 
himself ;  but  you  will  see  the  necessity  of  these  appropria- 
tions, when  I  remind  you  he  is  now  fourteen  months  old. 

Lady  Spencer  had  now  a  lottery — without  blanks,  you  will 
suppose  —  of  playthings  and  toys  for  the  children.  She  dis- 
tributed the  prizes,  and  Lady  Duncannon  held  the  tickets. 


248  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

During  this  entered  Lord  Spencer,  the  son  of  Lady  Spen- 
cer, who  was  here  only  for  three  days,  to  see  his  sister 
Duucannon.  They  had  all  dined  with  the  little  Lady 
Harriot.     The  Duke  is  now  at  Chatsworth,  in  Derbyshire. 

I  thought  of  Lord  Spencer's  kindness  to  Charles,  and  I 
recollected  he  was  a  favorite  of  Mr.  Wyndham.  I  saw  him, 
therefore,  with  very  different  ideas  to  those  raised  by  the 
sight  of  his  poor  sister  Duncannon,  to  whoin  he  made  up 
with  every  mark  of  pitying  affection ;  she,  meanwhile, 
receiving  him  with  the  most  expressive  pleasure,  though 
nearly  silent.  I  could  not  help  feeling  touched,  in  defi- 
ance of  all  obstacles. 

Presently  followed  two  ladies.  Lady  .Spencer,  with  a 
look  and  manner  warmly  announcing  pleasure  in  what  she 
was  doing,  then  introduced  me  to  the  first  of  them,  saying 
"  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  Miss  Burney." 

She  made  me  a  very  civil  compliment  upon  hoping  my 
health  was  recovering ;  and  Lady  Spencer,  then,  slightly, 
and  as  if  unavoidably,  said,  "  Lady  Elizabeth  Forster." 

I  have  neglected  to  mention,  in  its  place,  that  the  six 
poor  little  girls  had  a  repast  in  the  garden,  and  Lady 
Georgiana  earnestly  begged  leave  to  go  down  and  see  and 
speak  with  them.  She  applied  to  Lady  Spencer.  "  Oh, 
grandmamma,"  she  cried,  "  pray  let  me  go  !  Mamma  says 
it  all  depends  Tipon  you."  The  Duchess  expressed  some 
fear  lest  there  might  be  any  illness  or  disorder  amongst  the 
poor  things  :  Lady  Spencer  answered  for  them  ;  and  Lady 
Georgiana,  with  a  sweet  delight,  flew  down  into  the  gar- 
den, all  the  rest  accompanying,  and  Lady  Spencer  and  the 
Duchess  soon  following.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  taken 
in  all  its  dependencies,  from  the  windows.  Lord  Spencer 
presently  joined  them. 

To  return  to  the  Duchess.  I  did  not  find  so  much  beauty 
in  her  as  I  expected,  notwithstanding  the  variations  of  ac- 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  249 

counts ;  but  I  found  far  more  of  manner,  politeness,  and 
gentle  quiet.  She  seems  by  nature  to  possess  the  highest 
animal  spirits,  but  she  appeared  to  me  not  happy.  I 
thought  she  looked  oppressed  within,  though  there  is  a 
native  cheerfulness  about  her  which  I  fancy  scarce  ever 
deserts  her. 

There  is  in  her  face,  especially  when  she  speaks,  a  sweet- 
ness of  good-humor  and  obligingness  that  seem  to  be  the 
natural  and  instinctive  qualities  of  her  disposition  ;  joined 
to  an  openness  of  countenance  that  announces  her  en- 
dowed, by  nature,  with  a  character  intended  wholly  for 
honesty,  fairness,  and  good  purposes. 

She  now  conversed  with  me  "wholly,  and  in  so  soberly 
sensible  and  quiet  a  manner,  as  I  had  imagined  incompati- 
ble with  her  powers.  Too  much  and  too  little  credit  have 
variously  been  given  her.  About  me  and  my  health  slie 
was  more  civil  than  I  can  well  tell  you  ;  not  from  prudery 
—  I  have  none,  in  these  records,  methinks  ! —  but  from  its 
being  mixed  into  all  that  passed.  We  talked  over  my  late 
tour,  Bath  waters,  and  the  King's  illness.  This,  which 
was  led  to  by  accident,  was  here  a  tender  subject,  consider- 
ing lier  heading  the  Eegency  squadron ;  however,  I  have 
only  one  line  to  pursue,  and  from  that  I  can  never  vary. 
I  spoke  of  my  own  deep  distress  from  his  sufferings  witli- 
out  reserve,  and  of  the  distress  of  the  Queen  with  the  most 
avowed  compassion  and  respect.  She  was  extremely  well- 
bred  in  all  she  said  herseK,  and  seemed  willing  to  keep  up 
the  subject.  I  fancy  no  one  has  just  in  the  same  way 
treated  it  with  her  Grace  before ;  however,  she  took  all  in 
good  part,  though  to  have  found  me  retired  in  discontent 
had  perhaps  been  more  congenial  to  her.  But  I  have  been 
sedulous  to  make  them  all  know  the  contrary.  Neverthe- 
less, as  I  am  eager  to  be  considered  apart  from  all  party, 
I  was  much  pleased,  after  all  this,  to  have  her  express  her- 


250  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

self  very  desirous  to  keep  up  our  acquaintance,  ask  many 
questions  as  to  the  chance  of  my  remaining  in  Bath,  most 
politely  hope  to  profit  from  it,  and,  finally,  inquire  my 
direction. 

Poor  Mrs.  Ord  is  quite  in  dismay  at  this  acquaintance, 
and  will  believe  no  good  of  them,  and  swallows  all  that  is 
said  of  evil.  In  some  points,  however,  I  have  found  her 
so  utterly  misinformed,  that  I  shall  never  make  over  into 
her  custody  and  management  my  opinion  of  the  world. 
She  thinks  the  worst,  and  judges  the  most  severely,  of  all 
mankind,  of  any  person  I  have  ever  known  ;  it  is  the 
standing  imperfection  of  her  character,  and  so  ungenial,  so 
nipping,  so  blighting,  it  sometimes  damps  all  my  pleasure 
in  her  society,  since  my  living  with  her  has  shown  the  ex- 
tent of  her  want  of  all  charity  towards  her  fellows. 

I  always  wonder  how  people,  good  themselves,  as  she  is, 
can  make  up  their  minds  to  supposing  themselves  so  sin- 
gular. 

Lady  Elizabeth,  however,  has  the  character  of  being  so 
alluring,  that  Mrs.  Holroyd  told  me  it  was  the  opinion  of 
Mr.  Gibbon  no  man  could  withstand  her,  and  tliat,  if  she 
chose  to  beckon  the  Lord  Chancellor  from  his  woolsack,  in 
full  sight  of  the  world,  he  could  not  resist  obedience  ' 

Queen's  Square,  Bath, 
September.  —  With  what  pleased  and  full  sensations  do 
I  here  begin  a  month  I  shall  end  with  my  beloved  readers  ! 
Oh  that  such  a  time  should  be  really  approaching  !  when 
in  peace,  with  ease,  in  natural  spirits,  and  with  a  mind 
undisturbed,  I  may  visit  Mickleham,  and  revisit  Norbury 
Park. 

Three  days  before  we  left  Bath,  as  I  was  coming  with 
Mrs.  Ord  from  the  Pump-room,  we  encountered  a  chair  from 


1791.]  OF   MADA.ME   D'ARBLAY.  251 

which  a  lady  repeatedly  kissed  her  hand  and  bowed  to  me. 
I  was  too  near-sighted  to  distinguish  who  she  was,  till, 
coming  close,  and  a  little  stopped  by  more  people,  she  put 
her  face  to  the  glass,  and  said,  "  How  d'  ye  do  ?  How  d'  ye 
do  ? "  and  I  recollected  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire. 

About  an  hour  after  I  had  again  the  honor  of  a  visit 
from  her,  and  with  Lady  Dowager  Spencer.  I  was  luckily 
at  home  alone,  Mrs.  Ord  having  dedicated  the  rest  of  the 
morning  to  her  own  visits.  I  received  them,  therefore, 
with  great  pleasure.  I  now  saw  the  Duchess  far  more  easy 
and  lively  in  her  spirits,  and,  consequently,  far  more  lovely 
in  her  person.  Vivacity  is  so  much  her  characteristic, 
that  her  style  of  beauty  requires  it  indispensably ;  the 
beauty,  indeed,  dies  away  without  it.  I  now  saw  how  her 
fame  for  personal  charms  had  been  obtained  ;  the  expres- 
sion of  her  smiles  is  so  very  sweet,  and  has  an  ingenuous- 
ness and  openness  so  singular,  that,  taken  in  those  mo- 
ments, not  the  most  rigid  critic  could  deny  the  justice  of 
her  personal  celebrity.  She  was  quite  gay,  easy,  and 
charming  :  indeed,  that  last  epithet  might  have  been  coined 
for  her. 

The  last  person  I  saw  at  Bath  was  Lady  Spencer,  who, 
late  in  the  evening,  and  in  the  midst  of  our  packing,  came 
and  sat  for  a  very  pleasant  half-hour. 

This  has  certainly  been  a  singular  acquaintance  for  me 
—  tliat  the  first  visit  I  should  make  after  leaving  the 
Queen  should  be  to  meet  the  head  of  the  oj)position  pub- 
lic —  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  ! 


Monday,  September  12th.  —  My  dear  M ,  as  I  still 

always  call  her  when  I  speak  or  write  to  her,  accompanied 
me  near  forty  miles  on  my  way  to  Mickleham. 

Here  I  stop.  —  I  came  to  my  dearest  Susan,  —  I  was 


252  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1791. 

received  by  my  dearest  Fredy,  —  and,  at  length,  just  where 
I  most  wished,  I  finished. 

N.  B.  As  our  frequent  inteiTuptions  prevented  my  read- 
ing you  and  my  Fredy  a  paragraph  from  ray  father  con- 
cerning Mr,  Burke,  which,  for  my  sake,  I  know  you  will 
like,  I  will  here  copy  it :  — 

"  I  dined  with  Sir  Joshua  last  week,  and  met  Mr.  Burke, 
his  brother,  Mr.  Malone,  the  venerable  Bishop  of  St.  Pol 
de  Leon,  and  a  French  Abbe  or  Chevalier.  I  found  Mr. 
Burke  in  the  room  on  my  arrival,  and  after  the  first  very 
cordial  civilities  were  over,  he  asked  me,  with  great  eager- 
ness, whether  I  thought  he  might  go  in  his  present  dress  to 
pay  his  respects  to  Miss  Burney ;  and  was  taking  up  his  hat, 
till  I  told  him  you  were  out  of  town.  He  imagined,  I  sup- 
pose, you  were  in  St.  Martin's-street,  where  he  used  to  call 
upon  you.  In  talking  over  your  health,  the  recovery  of  your 
liberty  and  of  society,  he  said,  if  Johnson  had  been  alive, 
your  history  would  have  furnished  him  with  an  additional 
and  interesting  article  to  his  '  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.' 
He  said  he  had  never  been  more  mistaken  in  his  life.  He 
thought  the  Queen  had  never  behaved  more  amiably,  or 
shown  more  good  sense,  than  in  appropriating  you  to  her 
service ;  but  what  a  service  had  it  turned  out !  —  a  con- 
finement to  such  a  companion  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  !  — 
Here  exclamations  of  severity  and  kindness  in  turn  lasted 
a  considerable  time." 

If  ew^  I  see  Mr.  Burke  where  he  speaks  to  me  upon 
this  subject,  I  will  openly  state  to  him  how  impossible  it 
was  that  the  Queen  should  conceive  the  subserviency 
expected,  so  unjustly  and  unwarrantably,  by  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg ;  to  whom  I  ought  only  to  have  belonged  officially, 
and  at  official  hours,  unless  the  desire  of  further  inter- 
course had  been  reciprocal.  The  Queen  had  imagined  that 
a  younger  and  more  lively  colleague  would   have  made 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  253 

her  faithful  old  servant  happier  ;  and  that  idea  was  merely 
amiable  in  Her  Majesty,  who  could  little  suspect  the  misery 
inflicted  on  that  poor  new  colleague. 


Chelsea  College. 

October.  —  Though  another  month  is  begun  since  I  left 
my  dearest  of  friends,  I  have  had  no  journalizing  spirit ; 
but  I  will  give  all  heads  of  chapters,  and  try  to  do  better. 

My  meeting  with  Miss  Cambridge  at  Kingston  I  have 
told  already;  and  I  soon  afterwards  set  my  good  aunts  safely 
down  at  their  new  Eichmond  abode.  I  found  my  beloved 
father  in  excellent  health,  spirits,  and  good  humor ;  my 
mother  tolerably,  and  Sarah  well  and  affectionate.  James 
was  at  dinner  with  them,  and  in  perfect  g6od  plight,  ex- 
cept when  he  ruminated  upon  his  little  godson's  having 
three  names ;  that,  I  fancy,  he  regards  as  rather  aristo- 
crat, for  he  made  as  grave  a  remonstrance  against  it  as 
he  endeavored  to  do  at  the  very  moment  they  were  pro- 
nounced in  the  midst  of  the  christening. 

I  have  lived  altogether  in  the  most  quiet  and  retired 
manner  possible.  My  health  gains  ground,  gradually,  but 
very  perceptibly,  and  a  weakness  that  makes  me  soon 
exhausted  in  whatever  I  undertake  is  all  of  illness  now 
remaining. 

I  have  never  been  so  pleasantly  situated  at  home  since 
I  lost  the  sister  of  my  heart  and  my  most  affectionate 
Charlotte.  My  father  is  almost  constantly  within.  Indeed, 
I  now  live  with  him  wholly ;  he  has  himself  appropriated 
me  a  place,  a  seat,  a  desk,  a  table,  and  every  convenience 
and  comfort,  and  he  never  seemed  yet  so  earnest  to  keep 
me  about  him.  We  read,  together,  write  together,  chat, 
compare  notes,  communicate  projects,  and  diversify  each 
other's   employments.     He    is   all   goodness,   gaiety,   and 


254  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

affection  ;  and  his  society  and  kindness  are  more  precious 
to  me  than  ever. 

Fortunately,  in  this  season  of  leisure  and  comfort,  the 
spirit  of  composition  proves  active.  The  day  is  never  long 
enough,  and  I  could  employ  two  pens  almost  incessantly, 
in  merely  scribbling  what  will  not  be  repressed.  This  is  a 
delight  to  my  dear  father  inexpressibly  great :  and  though 
I  have  gone  no  further  than  to  let  him  know,  from  tinie  to 
time,  the  species  of  matter  that  occupies  me,  he  is  perfectly 
contented,  and  patiently  waits  till  something  is  quite  fin- 
ished, before  he  insists  upon  reading  a  word.  This  "  suits 
my  humor  well,"  as  my  own  industry  is  all  gone  when  once 
its  intent  is  produced. 

For  the  rest,  I  have  been  going  on  with  my  third  trag- 
edy. I  have  two  written,  but  never  yet  have  had  oppor- 
tunity to  read  them ;  which,  of  course,  prevents  their  being 
corrected  to  tlie  best  of  my  power,  and  fitted  for  the 
perusal  of  less  indulgent  eyes  ;  or  rather  of  eyes  less  preju- 
diced. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  friends,  in  the  present  composed 
and  happy  state  of  my  mind,  I  could  never  have  suggested 
these  tales  of  woe  ;  but,  having  only  to  connect,  combine, 
contract,  and  finish,  I  will  not  leave  them  uudoue.  Not, 
however,  to  sadden  myself  to  the  same  point  in  which  I 
began  them  ;  I  read  more  than  I  write,  and  call  for  hap- 
pier themes  from  others,  to  enliven  my  mind  from  the 
dolorous  sketches  I  now  draw  of  my  own. 

The  library  or  study,  in  which  we  constantly  sit,  sup- 
plies such  delightful  variety  of  food,  that  I  have  nothing  to 
wish.  Thus,  my  beloved  sisters  and  friends,  you  see  me, 
at  length,  enjoying  all  that  peace,  ease,  and  chosen  recre- 
ation and  employment,  for  which  so  long  I  sighed  in  vain, 
and  which,  till  very  lately,  I  had  reason  to  believe,  even 
since  attained,  had  been  allowed  me  too  late.     I  am  more 


1791.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  255 

and  more  thankful  every  night,  every  morning,  for  the 
change  in  my  destiny,  and  present  blessings  of  my  lot ; 
and  you,  my  beloved  Susan  and  Fredy,  for  whose  prayers  I 
have  so  often  applied  in  my  sadness,  suffering,  and  despond- 
ence, afford  me  now  the  same  community  of  thanks  and 
acknowledgments. 


November.  —  I  called  also  one  morning  upon  Mrs, 
Schwellenberg.  She  received  me  with  much  profession  of 
regard,  and  with  more  than  profession  of  esteem  —  since  she 
evinced  it  by  the  confidential  discourse  into  which  she 
soon  entered  upon  the  Eoyal  Family  and  herself.  How- 
ever, I  easily  read  that  she  still  has  not  forgiven  my  resig- 
nation, and  still  thinks  I  failed  in  loyalty  of  duty,  by 
not  staying,  though  to  die,  rather  than  retire,  though  to 
live. 

This,  however,  is  so  much  a  part  of  her  very  limited 
knowledge,  and  very  extensive  prejudice,  that  I  submit  to 
it  without  either  wonder  or  resentment. 

She  trusted  me,  nevertheless,  just  as  usual,  in  speaking 
of  the  Court  affairs.  I  entreated  her  permission  to  venture 
to  trouble  her  with  "  laying  my  humblest  duty  at  the 
Queen's  feet ; "  for  that  is  the  phrase  now  allowed.  She 
told  me  I  had  a  "  reelly  right "  to  that,  and  promised  to  do 
it,  with  great  good  humor.  When  she  settled  in  town  for 
the  winter,  she  desired  to  see  me  often  ;  she  said  she 
should  return  to  Windsor  in  two  days.  The  family  were 
all  there,  as  usual.  We  had  much  talk  of  the  Duke  of 
York  and  his  marriage,  &c. 

I  then  called  upon  Mrs.  Stainforth  :  none  other  of  my 
friends  were  in  town.  She  also  received  me  with  great 
civility,  and  hardly  would  let  me  quit  her,  opening  her 
heart  in  the  old  way,  upon  her  sufferings  from  the  tyranny 


256  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1791. 

of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  —  'T  is  dreadful  that  power  thus 
often  leads  to  every  abuse !  —  I  grow  democratic  at  once 
on  these  occasions.  Indeed,  I  feel  always  democratic 
where  I  think  power  abused,  whether  by  the  great  or  the 
little. 


Miss  Burner/  to  Mrs.  Francis. 

My  beloved  Charlotta,  —  I  think  you  quite  right  for 
giving  up  all  mere  card  visits  that  you  are  able  to  decline, 
for  the  best  of  all  reasons  of  concurrence — that  I  should 
do  the  same  myself  'T  is  a  miserable  waste  of  existence 
to  do  what  judgment  and  reason  never  approve,  when  even 
inclination  and  pleasure  are  at  the  same  time  averse ;  and 
I  am  sure  by  morning  calls,  and  open,  though  moderated, 
confessions  of  disaffection  to  the  employment,  you  may 
avoid  both  that  and  offence  at  once ;  and  offence  is  tlie 
only  terror  that  could  spur  me  into  an  occupation  so  dis- 
tasteful to  me. 

I  called  upon  poor  Mile.  Jacobi  yesterday,  at  Brompton. 
I  found  her  in  a  small  room,  with  a  Madame  Warmai,  a 
German,  who  speaks  English,  and  issues  all  orders  and 
directions  ;  and  Mile.  Winckelmann,  whom  she  calls  La 
Betti,  and  who  attends  her  as  her  maid,  though  she  is  her 
niece.  She  has  had  a  dreadful  illness ;  she  has  sprained 
her  ankle ;  and  her  vexation,  joined  to  painful  exertion, 
threw  her  into  a  nervous  fever.  She  has  now  conquered 
the  fever,  tliough  her  leg  is  still  on  bolsters,  and  slie  can- 
not put  her  foot  to  the  ground.  What  a  misfortune  for  a 
lioyal  attendant ! 

She  told  me  much  of  INIr.  D.,  who  attends  her.  She 
says  she  asked  him,  one  day,  what  she  could  do  ?  "  Sit 
still,"  he  smilingly  answered. 

"  But  not  always,"  she  cried  :  "  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  257 

by-and-by  ? "     "  Oh,"    cried   he,   still   smiling,    "  I   never 
think  of  the  future." 

How  consoling  !  She  added,  that  he  once  found  her 
eating  some  leveret,  and  said  he  "  rejoiced  to  see  her  now 
so  well ; "  and  from  that  time  he  had  never  felt  her  pulse 
nor  looked  at  her  tongue.  Tired  out  with  her  lingering 
complaints,  little  advance,  and  no  comfort,  she  at  last  re- 
proached him  with  this,  and  bluntly  said,  "  Sir,  you  never 
can  tell  how  I  do  ;  you  never  feel  my  pulse  ! "  He  smiled 
still  more,  and,  putting  out  his  arm,  held  it  close  to  her 
hand,  and  said,  "  Feel  mine !  "  Quite  affronted,  she  an- 
swered, "  Never  !  so  long  as  I  breathe  —  never  I  feel  that 
pulse ! "     Do  you  not  know  him  again  ? 


Mrs.  Chapone  to  Miss  Burnei/. 

Are  you  in  town,  my  dear  Miss  Burney,  and  do  you  re- 
member an  old  soul  that  used  to  love  your  company  ?  If 
you  will  give  it  me  next  Thursday  evening,  you  will  meet 
Pepys,  Boscawen,  &c.  ;  so  you  may  put  on  your  blue  stock- 
ings.^ If  you  have  got  any  boots  to  walk  about  in  the 
mornings,  I  shall  like  you  as  well  in  them. 

I  hope  all  the  family  are  well.  I  need  not  say  that  Dr. 
Barney's  company  would  be  an  additional  pleasure  on 
Thursday.     I  am,  dear  madam,  your  affectionate  servant, 

H.  Chapone. 

I\o.  17,  Carlisle  Street,  Dean  Street, 
Decembei"  27. 

January.  —  I  had  a  very  civil  note  from  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg,  telling  me  that  i\Iiss  Goldsworthy  was  ill,  which 
made  Miss  Gomme  necessary  to  the  Princesses,  and  there- 

1  In  reference  to  the  well-known  literary  clique,  humorously  styled  the 
Bas  Bleu. 

VOL.  II.  17- 


258  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

fore,  as  Mile.  Jacobi  was  still  lame,  Her  Majesty  wished 
for  my  attendance  on  Wednesday  noon. 

I  received  this  little  summons  with  very  sincere  pleasure, 
and  sent  a  warm  acknowledgment  for  its  honor.  I  was 
engaged  for  the  evening  to  Mr.  Walpole,  now  Lord  Orford, 
Ly  my  father,  who  promised  to  call  for  me  at  the  Queen's 
house. 

At  noon  I  went  thither,  and  saw,  by  the  carriages,  their 
Majesties  were  just  arrived  from  Windsor.  In  my  way  up- 
stairs I  encountered  the  Princess  Sophia.  I  really  felt  a 
pleasure  at  her  sight,  so  great  that  I  believe  I  saluted  her ; 
I  hardly  know  ;  but  she  came  forward,  with  her  haudij 
held  out,  so  good  humored  and  so  sweetly,  I  was  not  much 
on  my  guard.  How  do  I  wish  T  had  gone  that  moment  to 
my  Eoyal  mistress,  while  my  mind  was  fully  and  honestly 
occupied  with  the  most  warm  satisfaction  in  being  called 
again  into  her  presence  ! 

The  Princess  Sophia  desired  me  to  send  her  Miss  Gomme, 
whom  she  said  I  should  find  in  my  own  room.  Thither  I 
went,  and  we  embraced  very  cordially  ;  but  she  a  little 
made  me  stare  by  saying,  "  Do  you  sleep  in  your  old  bed  ? " 
"  ISTo,"  I  answered,  "  I  go  home  after  dinner ; "  and  she 
said  no  more,  but  told  me  she  must  have  two  hours'  con- 
ference alone  with  me,  from  the  multiplicity  of  things  she 
had  to  discuss  with  me.  We  parted  then,  and  I  proceeded 
to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.  There  I  was  most  courteously  re- 
ceived, and  told  I  was  to  go  at  night  to  the  play.  I  replied 
I  was  extremely  sorry,  but  I  was  engaged. 

She  looked  deeply  displeased,  and  I  was  forced  to  offer 
t6  send  an  excuse.  Nothing,  however,  was  settled ;  she 
went  to  the  Queen,  whither  I  was  most  eager  to  follow, 
but  I  depended  upon  her  arrangement,  and  could  not 
go  uncalled.  I  returned  to  my  own  room,  as  they  all 
still   call  it,   and   Miss   Gomme   and   Miss   Planta  both 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  259 

came  to  me.  We  had  a  long  discourse  upon  matters 
aud  things. 

By-and-by  Miss  Gomme  was  called  out  to  Princesses 
Mary  and  Amelia;  she  told  them  who  was  in  the  old. 
apartment,  and  they  instantly  entered  it.  Princess  Mary 
took  my  hand,  and  said  repeatedly,  "My  dear  Miss  Burney, 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again  ! "  and  the  lovely  little 
Princess  Amelia  kissed  me  twice,  with  the  sweetest  air  of 
affection.  This  was  a  very  charming  meeting  to  me,  and 
I  expressed  my  real  delight  in  being  thus  allowed  to  come 
amongst  them  again,  in  the  strongest  and  truest  terms. 

I  had  been  but  a  short  time  alone,  when  Westerhaults 
came  to  ask  me  if  I  had  ordered  my  father's  carriage  to 
bring  nie  from  the  play.  I  told  him  I  was  engaged,  but 
would  give  up  that  engagement,  and  endeavor  to  secure 
being  fetched  home  after  the  play.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg 
then  desired  to  see  me.  "  What  you  mean  by  going 
home  ? "  cried  she,  somewhat  deridingly :  "  know  you  not 
you  might  sleep  here  ?  " 

I  was  really  thunderstruck  ;  so  weak  still,  and  so  un- 
equal as  I  feel  to  undertake  night  and  morning  attendance, 
which  I  now  saw  expected.  I  was  obliged,  however,  to 
comply;  and  I  wrote  a  note  to  Sarah,  and  another  note  to 
be  given  to  my  father,  when  he  called  to  take  me  to  Lord 
Orford.  But  I  desired  we  might  go  in  chairs,  and  not 
trouble  him  for  the  carriage. 

This  arrangement,  and  my  dread  of  an  old  attendance  I 
was  so  little  refitted  for  renewing,  had  so  much  disturbed 
me  before  I  was  summoned  to  the  Queen,  tliat  I  appeared 
before  her  without  any  of  the  glee  and  spirits  with  which 
I  had  originally  obeyed  her  commands.  I  am  still  grieved 
at  this  circumstance,  as  it  must  have  made  me  seem  cold 
and  insensible  to  herself,  when  I  was  merely  chagrined  at 
the  peremptory  mismanagement  of  her  agent.     Mr.  de  Luc 


260  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

was  with  her.  She  was  gi-acious,  but  by  no  means  lively 
or  cordial.  She  was  offended,  probably  —  and  there  was 
no  reason  to  wonder,  and  yet  no  means  to  clear  away  the 
cause.  This  gave  me  much  vexation,  and  the  more  I 
felt  it  the  less  I  must  have  appeared  to  merit  her  con- 
descension. 

Nevertheless,  after  she  was  dressed,  she  honored  me  with 
a  summons  to  the  White  Closet,  where  I  presently  felt  as 
much  at  home  as  if  I  had  never  quitted  the  Eoyal  resi- 
dence. She  inquired  into  my  proceedings,  and  I  began  a 
little  history  of  my  south-west  tour ;  which  she  listened  to 
till  word  was  brought  the  King  was  come  from  the  Lev^e : 
dinner  was  ordered,  and  I  was  dismissed. 

At  our  dinner,  the  party,  in  the  old  style,  was  Mr.  de 
Luc,  Miss  Planta,  Mrs.  Stainforth,  and  Miss  Gomme ;  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  was  not  well  enough  to  leave  her  own 
apartment,  except  to  attend  the  Queen. 

We  were  gay  enough,  I  own ;  my  spirits  were  not  very 
low  in  finding  myself  a  guest  at  that  table,  where  I  was  so 
totally  unfit  to  be  at  home,  and  whence,  nevertheless,  I 
should  have  been  very  much  and  deeply  concerned  to 
have  found  myself  excluded,  since  the  displeasure  of  the 
Queen  could  alone  have  procured  such  a  banishment.  ^  Be- 
sides, to  visit,  I  like  the  whole  establishment,  however  in- 
adequate I  found  them  for  supplying  the  place  of  all  I 
quitted  to  live  with  them.     Oh,  who  could  succeed  there  ? 

During  the  dessert  the  Princess  Elizabeth  came  into  the 
room.  I  was  very  glad,  by  this  means,  to  see  all  this 
lovely  female  tribe.  As  soon  as  she  was  gone  I  made  off 
to  prepare  for  the  play,  with  fan,  cloak,  and  gloves.  At 
the  door  of  my  new  old  room  who  should  I  encounter  but 
Mr.  Stanhope  ?  He  was  all  rapture,  in  his  old  way,  at  the 
meeting,  and  concluded  me,  I  believe,  reinstated.  I  got 
off  as  fast  as  possible,  and  had  just  shut  myself  in,  and 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  261 

him  out,  when  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  King,  who  passed 
my  door  to  go  to  the  dining-room.  I  was  quite  chagrined 
to  have  left  it  so  unseasonably,  as  my  whole  heart  yearned 
to  see  him.  He  stayed  but  a  minute,  and  I  heard  him 
stop  close  to  my  door,  and  speak  with  Mr.  de  Luc.  The 
loudness  of  his  voice  assuring  me  he  was  saying  nothing 
he  meant  to  be  unheard,  I  could  not  resist  softly  opening 
my  door.  I  fancy  he  expected  this,  for  he  came  up  to  me 
immediately,  and  with  a  look  of  goodness  almost  amount- 
ing to  pleasure  —  I  believe  I  may  say  quite  —  he  inquired 
after  my  health,- and  its  restoration,  and  said  he  was  very 
glad  to  see  me  again.  Then  turning  gaily  to  Mr.  de  Luc, 
"  And  you,  Mr.  de  Luc,"  he  cried,  "  are  not  you  too  very 
glad  to  see  Miss  Beurni  again  ? " 

I  told  him,  very  truly,  the  pleasure  with  which  I  had  re- 
entered his  roof  —  He  made  me  stand  near  a  lamp,  to 
examine  me,  and  pronounced  upon  my  amended  looks 
with  great  benevolence :  and,  when  he  was  walking  away, 
said  aloud  to  Mr.  de  Luc,  who  attended  him,  "  I  dare  say 
she  was  very  willing  to  come  ! " 

I  heard  afterwards  from  Miss  Gomme  that  the  King 
came  to  the  eating-room  purposely  to  see  me,  as  he  told 
the  Princesses.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  grateful  I  feel  for 
such  condescending  goodness ;  and  how  invariably  I  ex- 
perienced it  during  my  whole  residence  under  his  roof 

Our  party  in  the  box  for  the  Queen's  attendants  con- 
sisted of  Lady  Catherine  Stanhope,  Miss  Planta,  Major 
Price,  Greville  Upton,  and  Mr.  Frank  L^pton.  The  King 
and  Queen  and  six  Princesses  sat  opposite.  It  was  to  me 
a  lovely  and  most  charming  sight.  The  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  the  Duke  of  York  and  his  bride,  with  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  sat  immediately  under  us.  I  saw  the  Duchess 
now  and  then,  and  saw  that  she  has  a  very  sensible  and 
marked  countenance,  but  no  beauty.     She  was  extremely 


262  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

well  received  by  the  people,  and  smiled  at  in  the  most 
pleasing  manner  by  her  opposite  new  relations.  The  play 
was  "  Cymon,"  with  alterations,  &c. 

At  night  I  once  more  attended  the  Queen,  and  it  seemed 
as  strange  to  me  as  if  I  had  never  done  it  before. 

The  next  day,  Thursday,  the  Queen  gave  up  the  drawing- 
room,  on  account  of  a  hurt  on  her  foot.  I  had  the  honor 
of  another  very  long  conference  in  the  White  Closet,  in 
which  I  finished  the  account  of  my  late  travels,  and  dur- 
ing which,  though  she  was  very  gracious,  she  was  far  less 
communicative  than  heretofore,  saying  little  herself,  and 
making  me  talk  almost  all. 

When  1  attended  the  Queen  again  to-night,  the  strange- 
ness was  so  entirely  worn  away,  that  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
I  had  never  left  my  office !  And  so  again  on  Friday  morn- 
ing. At  noon  the  Eoyal  Family  set  off  for  Windsor.  The 
Queen  graciously  sent  for  me  before  she  went,  to  bid  me 
good-bye,  and  condescended  to  thank  me  for  my  little 
services.  I  would  have  offered  repetition  with  all  my  heart, 
but  I  felt  my  frame  unequal  to  such  business.  Indeed,  I 
was  half  dead  with  only  two  days'  and  nights'  exertion. 
'T  is  amazing  how  I  ever  went  through  all  that  is  passed. 

February.  — I  shall  begin  this  month  at  the  13th,  the 
day  I  left  my  dearest  friends.  I  found  our  small  family  at 
home  in  much  the  same  state  as  I  had  left  it ;  my  dear 
father,  however,  rather  worse  than  better,  and  lower  and 
more  depressed  about  himself  than  ever.  To  see  him  de- 
jected is,  of  all  sights,  to  me  the  most  melancholy,  his 
native  cheerfulness  having  a  character  of  such  temperate 
sweetness,  that  there  is  no  dispensing  with  any  of  it,  as  its 
utmost  vigor  never  a  moment  overpowers. 

Among  the  tickets  I  found  of  visitors  during  my  absence, 
I  was  much  pleased  to  see  the  name  of  Mr.  Bryant.  Good 
and  kind  old  man  !  how  much  I  should  like  to  see  him 

in! 


1792.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  263 

And  I  found  also,  waiting  my  return,  a  note  from  INIrs. 
Schwellenberg,  with  an  offer  of  a  ticket  for  Mr.  Hastings's 
trial,  the  next  day,  if  I  wished  to  go  to  it. 

I  did  wish  it  exceedingly,  no  public  subject  having  ever 
so  deeply  interested  me;  but  I  could  not  recollect  any 
party  I  could  join,  and  therefore  I  proposed  to  Captain 
Phillips  to  call  on  his  Court  friend,  and  lay  before  her  my 
difficulty.  He  readily  declared  he  would  do  more,  for  he 
would  frankly  ask  her  for  a  ticket  for  himself,  and  stay 
another  day,  merely  to  accompany  me.  You  know  well 
the  kind  pleasure  and  zeal  with  which  he  is  always  ready 
to  discover  and  propose  expedients  in  distress. 

His  visit  prospered,  and  we  went  to  Westminster  Hall 
together. 

Upon  the  day  of  Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds's  death  I  was  in 
my  bed,  with  two  blisters,  and  I  did  not  hear  of  it  till  two 
days  after.  I  shall  enter  nothing  upon  this  subject  here  : 
our  current  letters  mentioned  the  particulars,  and  I  am  not 
desirous  to  retrace  them.  His  loss  is  as  universally  felt  as 
his  merit  is  universally  acknowledged,  and,  joined  to  all 
public  motives,  I  had  myself  private  ones  of  regret  that 
cannot  subside.  He  was  always  peculiarly  kind  to  me,  and 
he  had  worked  at  my  deliverance  from  a  life  he  conceived 
too  laborious  for  me,  as  if  I  had  been  his  own  daughter ; 
yet,  from  the  time  of  my  coming  forth,  I  only  twice  saw 
him.  I  had  not  recovered  strength  for  visiting  before  he 
was  past  receiving  me.  I  grieve  inexpressibly  never  to 
have  been  able  to  pay  him  the  small  tribute  of  thanks  for 
his  most  kind  exertions  in  my  cause.  I  little  thought  the 
second  time  I  saw  him  would  be  my  last  opportunity,  and 
my  intention  was  to  wait  some  favorable  opening. 

Miss  Palmer  is  left  heiress,  and  her  unabating  attend- 
ance upon  her  inestimable  uncle  in  his  sick  room  makes 


264  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

everybody  content  with  her  great  acquisition.  I  am  sure 
she  loved  and  admired  him  with  all  the  warmth  of  her  warm 
heart.  I  wrote  her  a  few  lines  of  condolence,  and  she  has 
sent  me  a  very  kind  answer.  She  went  immediately  to  the 
Burkes,  with  whom  she  will  chiefly,  I  fancy,  associate. 

March.  —  Sad  for  the  loss  of  Sir  Joshua,  and  all  of  us 
ill  ourselves,  we  began  this  month.  Upon  its  third  day 
was  his  funeral.  My  dear  father  could  not  attend ;  but 
Charles  was  invited  and  went.  All  the  Eoyal  Academy, 
professors  and  students,  and  all  the  Literary  Club,  attended 
as  family  mourners.  Mr.  Burke,  Mr.  Malone,^  and  Mr. 
Metcalf,  are  executors.  Miss  Palmer  has  spared  nothing, 
either  in  thought  or  expense,  that  could  render  the  last 
honors  splendid  and  grateful.  It  was  a  very  melancholy  day 
to  us,  though  it  had  the  alleviation  and  softening  of  a  letter 
from  our  dear  Charlotte,  promising  to  arrive  the  next  day. 

April.  —  This  wayward  month  opened  upon  me  with 
none  of  its  smiles :  sickness  and  depression  pervaded  our 
household. 

I  shall  now  pass  from  the  8th,  when  the  combined  forces 
of  Mrs.  Ord's  rhetoric  and  Charles's  activity  removed  me 
from  sickness  and  sinking  to  the  salubrious  hills  of  Nor- 
bury,  and  the  balsamic  medicine  of  social  tenderness,  to  my 
return  to  my  dear  father,  April  18th,  when  1  found  him  but 
little  better,  and  far  from  such  a  state  as  could  have  made 
me  happy  in  absence.  Gradually,  however,  he  has  been 
recruiting,  though  I  have  no  hope  of  his  entire  restoration 
before  the  dog-days. 

I  paid  my  duty  at  the  Queen's  house,  in  inquiring  after 
her  Majesty,  where  I  was  extremely  well  received  by  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  and  saw  Miss  Planta  and  Mr.  de  Luc. 

My  next  visiting  opportunity  carried  me  to  Mrs.  Mon- 

^  Edmund  Malone,  cliiefly  known  by  his  Commentaries  on  Shakespeare, 
bom  1741,  died  1812. 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  265 

tagu :  she  let  me  in,  and  showed  rae  her  new  room,  which 
was  a  double  gratification  to  me,  from  the  elegant  paint- 
ings by  our  ingenious  Edward.  You  will  have  heard  this 
fine  room  described  by  Mr.  Locke ;  my  Susanna,  and  you, 
my  Fredy,  I  hope  have  seen  it.  'T  is  a  very  beautiful  house 
indeed,  and  now  completely  finished. 

May.  ■ —  The  1st  of  this  month  I  went  again  to  West- 
minster Hall,  with  our  cousin  Elizabeth. 

Thence  I  went  to  the  Queen's  house,  where  I  have  a 
most  cordial  general  invitation  from  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  to 
go  by  all  opportunities;  and  there  is  none  so  good  as  after  the 
trial,  that  late  hour  exactly  according  with  her  dinner-time. 

She  is  just  as  she  was  in  respect  to  health ;  but  in  all 
other  respects,  oh  how  amended !  all  civility,  all  obliging- 
ness, all  courtesy !  and  so  desirous  to  have  me  visit  her, 
that*  she  presses  me  to  come  incessantly. 

Mr.  de  Luc  and  Miss  Mawer  were  of  the  party. 

During  coffee,  the  Princess  Eoyal  came  into  the  room. 
She  condescended  to  profess  herself  quite  glad  to  see  me ; 
and  she  had  not  left  the  room  five  minutes  before,  again  re- 
turning,  she  said,  "Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  I  am  come  to 
plague  you,  for  I  come  to  take  away  Miss  Burney." 

I  give  you  leave  to  guess  whether  this  plagued  me. 

May  2.  —  The  following  week  I  again  went  to  West- 
minster Hall.  Mile.  Jacobi  had  made  a  point  of  accom- 
panying me,  that  slie  might  see  the  show,  as  James  called 
it  to  General  Burgoyne,  and  I  had  great  pleasure  in  taking 
her,  for  she  is  a  most  ingenuous  and  good  creature,  though 
—  alas!  —  by  no  means  the  same  undaunted,  gay,  open 
character  that  she  appeared  at  first.  Sickness,  confinement, 
absence  from  her  friends,  submission  to  her  coadjutrix,  and 
laborious  watching,  have  much  altered  her. 

I  attended  Mile.   Jacobi  to  the  Queen's  house,  where  I 


266  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

dined ;  and  great  indeed  M'as  my  pleasure,  during  coffee,  to 
see  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who,  in  the  most  pleasing  man- 
ner and  the  highest  spirits,  came  to  summon  me  to  the 
Queen. 

I  found  Her  Majesty  again  with  all  her  sweet  daughters 
but  the  youngest.  She  was  gracious  and  disposed  to  con- 
verse. 

We  had  a  great  deal  of  talk  upon  public  concerns,  and 
she  told  me  a  friend  of  mine  had  spoken  very  well  the 
day  before,  and  so  had  Mr.  Burke.  She  meant  Mr.  Wynd- 
ham.  It  was  against  the  new  societies,^  and  in  favor  of 
the  Proclamation.  Mr.  Burke,  of  course,  would  here  come 
forth  in  defence  of  his  own  predictions  and  opinions ; 
but  Mr.  Wyndham,  who  had  rather  abided  hitherto  with 
Charles  Pox,  in  thinking  Mr..  Burke  too  extreme,  well  as  he 
loves  him  personally,  was  a  new  convert  highly  acceptable. 
He  does  not,  however,  go  all  lengths  with  Mr.  Burke;  he  is 
only  averse  to  an  unconstitutional  mode  of  reform,  and  to 
sanctioning  club  powers,  so  as  to  enable  them,  as  in  France, 
to  overawe  the  state  and  senate. 

Soon  after,  to  my  infinite  joy,  the  King  entered.  Oh,  he 
spoke  to  me  so  kindly  !  —  he  congratulated  me  on  the  bet- 
ter looks  which  his  own  presence  and  goodness  gave  me, 
repeatedly  declaring  he  had  never  seen  me  in  such  health. 
He  asked  me  after  my  father,  and  listened  with  interest 
when  I  mentioned  his  depression,  and  told  him  that  all  he 
had  done  of  late  to  sooth  his  retirement  and  pain  had  been 
making  canons  to  solemn  words,  and  with  such  difficulties 
of  composition  as,  in  better  health  and  spirits,  would  have 
rather  proved  oppressive  and  perplexing  than  a  relief  to  his 
feelings. 

"I,  too,"  said  the  King,  after  a  very  serious  pause,  "have 
myself  sometimes  found,  when  ill  or  disturbed,  that  some 

^  The  "London  Corresponding  Societies,"  &c. 


1792.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  267 

grave  and  even  difficult  employment  for  my  thoughts  has 
tended  more  to  compose  me  than  any  of  the  supposed  usual 
relaxations." 

He  also  condescended,  to  ask  after  little  Norbury,  taking 
off  the  eager  little  fellow  while  he  spoke,  and  his  earnest 
manner  of  delivery.  He  then  inquired  about  my  friends, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke,  and  their  expectations  of  the  return  of 
Mr.  William. 

He  inquired  how  I  lived,  whom  I  saw,  what  sort  of  neigh- 
bors I  had  in  the  college,  Chelsea,  and  many  other  partic- 
ulars, that  seemed  to  desire  to  know  how  I  went  on,  and 
whether  I  was  comfortable.  His  looks,  I  am  sure,  said  so, 
and  most  kindly. 

They  kept  me  till  they  went  to  the  Japan  Eoom,  where 
they  meet  the  officers  and  ladies  who  attend  them  in  pub- 
lic. They  were  going  to  the  Ancient  Music.  This  dear 
King,  nobly  unsuspicious  where  left  to  himself,  and  where 
he  has  met  no  doubleness,  spoke  also  very  freely  of  some 
political  matters  before  me  —  of  the  new  association  in 
particular.     It  gratified  me  higlily. 

Friday,  May  25th.  — This  morning  I  went  to  a  very 
fine  public  breakfast,  given  by  Mrs.  Montagu.  The  crowd 
of  company  was  such  that  we  could  only  slowly  make  way 
in  any  part.  There  could  not  be  fewer  than  four  or  five 
hundred  people.     It  was  like  a  full  Eanelagh  by  daylight. 

We  now  met  Mrs.  Porteus  ;  and  who  should  be  with  her 
but  tlie  poor  pretty  S.  S.,  whom  so  long  I  had  not  seen, 
and  who  has  now  lately  been  finally  given  up  by  lier  long- 
sought  and  very  injurious  lover.  Dr.  Vyse.  She  is  sadly 
faded,  and  looked  disturbed  and  unhappy ;  but  still  beauti- 
ful, though  no  longer  blooming;  and  still  affectionate, 
though  absent  and  evidently  absorbed.  We  had  a  little 
chat  together  about  the  Thrales.     In  mentioning  our  for- 


268  DIARY  AND  LETTERS  [1792. 

mer  intimacy  with  them,  "  Ah,  those,"  she  cried,  "  were 
happy  times  !  "  and  her  eyes  glistened.  Poor  thing  !  hers 
has  been  a  lamentable  story !  —  Imprudence  and  vanity 
have  rarely  been  mixed  with  so  much  sweetness  and  good- 
humor,  and  candor,  and  followed  with  more  reproach  and 
ill  success.  We  agreed  to  renew  acquaintance  next  win- 
ter ;  at  present  she  will  be  little  more  in  town. 

June  1st.  —  This  day  had  been  long  engaged  for  break- 
fasting with  Mrs.  Dickenson  and  dining  with  Mrs.  Ord. 
The  breakfast  guests  were  Mr.  Langton,  Mr.  Foote,  Mr. 
Dickenson,  jun.,  a  cousin,  and  a  very  agreeable  and  pleas- 
ing man  ;  Lady  Herries,  Miss  Dickenson,  another  cousin, 
and  Mr.  Boswell.  This  last  was  the  object  of  the  morning. 
I  felt  a  strong  sensation  of  that  displeasure  which  his  lo- 
quacious communications  of  every  weakness  and  infirmity 
of  the  first  and  greatest  good  man  of  these  times  has 
awakened  in  me,  at  his  first  sight ;  and,  though  his  address 
to  me  was  courteous  in  the  extreme,  and  he  made  a  point 
of  sitting  next  me,  I  felt  an  indignant  disposition  to  a 
nearly  forbidding  reserve  and  silence.  How  many  starts 
of  passion  and  prejudice  has  he  blackened  into  record,  that 
else  might  have  sunk,  for  ever  forgotten,  under  the  prepon- 
derance of  weightier  virtues  and  excellencies  ! 

Angry,  however,  as  I  have  long  been  with  him,  he  soon 
insensibly  conquered,  though  he  did  not  soften  me :  there 
is  so  little  of  ill- design  or  ill-nature  in  him,  he  is  so 
open  and  forgiving  for  all  that  is  said  in  return,  that  he 
soon  forced  me  to  consider  him  in  a  less  serious  light,  and 
change  my  resentment  against  his  treachery  into  something 
like  commiseration  of  his  levity ;  and  before  we  parted 
we  became  good  friends.  There  is  no  resisting  great  good 
humor,  be  what  will  in  the  opposite  scale. 

He  entertained  us  all  as  if  hired  for  that  purpose,  tell- 
ing stories  of  Dr.  Johnson,  and  acting  them  with  incessant 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  269 

buffoonery.  I  told  him  frankly  that,  if  he  turned  him 
into  ridicule  by  caricature,  I  should  Hy  the  premises  :  he 
assured  me  he  would  not,  and  indeed  his  imitations,  though 
comic  to  excess,  were  so  far  from  caricature  that  he  omit- 
ted a  thousand  gesticulations  which  I  distinctly  remember. 

Mr.  Langton  told  some  stories  himself  in  imitation  of 
Dr.  Johnson;  but  they  became  him  less  than  Mr.  Bos  well, 
and  only  reminded  me  of  what  Dr.  Johnson  himself  once 
said  to  me  ■ —  "  Every  man  has,  some  time  in  his  life,  an 
ambition  to  be  a  wag."  If  Mr.  Langton  had  repeated  any- 
thing from  his  truly  great  friend  quietly,  it  would  far 
better  have  accorded  with  his  own  serious  and  respectable 
character. 

June  4th.  —  The  birthday  of  our  truly  good  King.  As 
His  Majesty  had  himself  given  me,  when  I  saw  him  after 
the  Queen's  birthday,  an  implied  reproach  for  not  present- 
ing myself  at  the  palace  that  day,  I  determined  not  to 
incur  a  similar  censure  on  this,  especially  as  I  hold  my  ad- 
mission on  such  a  national  festival  as  a  real  happiness,  as 
well  as  honor,  when  it  is  to  see  themselves  ! 

How  different  was  my  attire  from  every  other  such  occa- 
sion the  five  preceding  years !  It  was  a  mere  simple 
dressed  undress,  without  feathers,  flowers,  hoop,  or  furbe- 
lows. When  I  alighted  at  the  porter's  lodge  I  was  stopped 
from  crossing  the  court-yard,  by  seeing  the  King,  with  his 
three  sons,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  Duke  of  York,  and  Duke 
of  Clarence,  who  were  standing  there  after  alighting  from 
their  horses,  to  gratify  the  people  who  encircled  the  iron 
rails.  It  was  a  pleasant  and  goodly  sight,  and  I  rejoiced 
in  such  a  detention. 

I  had  a  terrible  difficulty  to  find  a  friend  who  would 
make  known  to  Her  Majesty  that  I  was  come  to  pay  my 
devoirs.  At  length,  while  watching  in  the  passages  to  and 
fro,  I  heard  a  step  upon  the  Princesses'  stairs,  and,  venturing 


270  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

forward,  I  encountered  the  Princess  Elizabeth.  I  paid 
my  respectful  congratulations  on  the  day,  which  she  most 
pleasantly  received,  and  I  intimated  my  great  desire  to  see 
Her  Majesty.  I  am  sure  the  amiable  Princess  communi- 
cated my  petition,  for  Mr.  de  Luc  came  out  in  a  few 
minutes  and  ushered  me  into  the  Eoyal  presence.  The 
Queen  was  in  her  State  Dressing-room,  her  head  attired 
for  the  Drawing-room  superbly ;  but  her  Court-dress,  as 
usual,  remaining  to  be  put  on  at  St.  James's.  Slie  had 
already  received  all  her  early  complimenters,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  go  to  St.  James's :  the  Princess  Eoyal  was  seated 
by  her  side,  and  all  the  other  Princesses,  except  the  Princess 
Amelia,  were  in  the  room,  wdth  the  Duchess  of  York.  JVIr. 
de  Luc,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  Madame  de  la  Fite,  and  Miss 
Goldsworthy  were  in  the  background. 

The  Queen  smiled  upon  me  most  graciously,  and  every 
Princess  came  up  separately  to  speak  with  me.  I  thanked 
Her  Majesty  warmly  for  admitting  me  upon  such  an  occa- 
sion. "  Oh  !  "  cried  she,  "  I  resolved  to  see  you  the  mo- 
ment I  knew  you  were  here."  She  then  inquired  when  I 
went  into  Norfolk,  and  conversed  upon  my  summer  plans, 
&c.,  with  more  of  her  original  sweetness  of  manner  than  I 
have  seen  since  my  resignation.  What  pleasure  this  gave 
me  !  and  what  pleasure  did  I  feel  in  being  kejDt  by  her  till 
the  further  door  opened,  and  the  King  entered,  accompa- 
nied by  the  Dukes  of  York  and  Clarence !  I  motioned  to 
retreat,  but,  calling  out,  "  What,  Miss  Burney !  "  the  King 
came  up  to  me,  and  inquired  how  I  did ;  and  began  talk- 
ing to  me  so  pleasantly,  so  gaily,  so  kindly,  even,  that  1 
had  the  satisfaction  of  remaining  and  of  gathering  courage 
to  utter  my  good  wishes  and  warm  fervent  prayers  for  tliis 
day.  He  deigned  to  hear  me  very  benignly ;  or  make  be- 
lieve he  did,  for  I  did  not  make  my  harangue  very  audi- 
bly ;  but  he  must  be  sure  of  its  purport. 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  271 

He  said  I  was  grown  "  quite  fat "  since  he  had  seen  me, 
and  appealed  to  the  Duke  of  York :  he  protested  my  arm 
was  half  as  big  again  as  heretofore,  and  then  he  measured 
it  with  his  spread  thumbs  and  forefingers ;  and  the  whole 
of  his  manner  showed  his  perfect  approbation  of  the  step 
I  had  taken,  of  presenting  myself  in  the  Royal  presence 
on  this  auspicious  day. 

The  Queen  soon  after  walked  up  to  me,  and  asked  if  I 
should  like  to  see  the  ball  at  night.  T  certainly  should 
much  like  to  have  seen  them  "  in  all  their  glory,"  after 
seeing  them  thus  in  all  their  kindness,  as  well  as  to  have 
been  present  at  the  first  public  appearance  at  Court  of  the 
Princess  Sophia :  but  I  had  no  means  to  get  from  and  to 
Chelsea  so  late  at  night,  and  was,  therefore,  forced  to  excuse 
myself,  and  decline  her  gracious  proposition  of  giving  me 
tickets. 

Princess  Mary  came  to  shake  hands  with  me,  and  Prin- 
cess Augusta  spoke  to  me  for  some  time  with  extreme 
sweetness ;  in  short,  I  was  gratified  in  every  possible  way 
by  the  united  goodness  and  condescension  of  all  the  family. 

Thursday,  June  18th. — After  many  invitations  and 
regulations,  it  was  settled  I  was  to  accompany  my  father  on 
a  visit  of  three  days  to  Mrs.  Crewe  at  Hampstead. 

The  villa  at  Hampstead  is  small,  but  commodious.  We 
were  received  by  Mrs.  Crewe  with  much  kindness.  The 
room  was  rather  dark,  and  she  had  a  veil  to  her  bonnet, 
half  down,  and  with  this  aid  she  looked  still  in  a  full  blaze 
of  beauty.  I  was  wholly  astonished.  Her  bloom,  perfectly 
natural,  is  as  high  as  that  of  Augusta  Locke  when  in  her 
best  looks,  and  the  form  of  her  face  is  so  exquisitely  per- 
fect that  my  eye  never  met  it  without  fresh  admiration. 
She  is  certainly,  in  my  eyes,  the  most  completely  a  beauty 
of  any  woman  I  ever  saw.  I  know  not,  even  now,  any 
female  in  her  first  youth  who  could  bear  the  comparison. 
She  uglifies  everything  near  her. 


272  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

Her  son  was  with  her.  He  is  just  of  age,  and  looks  like 
her  elder  brother !  he  is  a  heavy,  old-looking  young  man. 
He  is  going  to  China  with  Lord  Macartney.  My  former 
friend,  young  Burke,  was  also  there.  I  was  glad  to  renew 
acquaintance  with,  him;  though  I  could  see  some  little 
strangeness  in  him :  this,  however,  completely  wore  off 
before  the  day  was  over. 

Soon  after  entered  Mrs.  Burke,  Miss  Y ,  a  niece,  and 

Mr.  Eichard  Burke,  the  comic,  humorous,  bold,  queer  brother 
of  the  Mr.  Burke,  who,  they  said,  was  soon  coming,  with 
Mr.  Elliot.  The  Burke  family  were  invited  by  Mrs.  Crewe 
to  meet  us. 

Mrs.  Burke  was  just  what  I  have  always  seen  her,  soft, 
gentle,  reasonable,  and  obliging  ;  and  we  met,  I  think,  upon 
as  good  terms  as  if  so  many  years  had  not  parted  us. 

At  length  Mr.  Burke  appeared,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Elliot.  He  shook  hands  with  my  father  as  soon  as  he  had 
paid  his  devoirs  to  Mrs.  Crewe,  but  he  returned  my  curtsey 
with  so  distant  a  bow,  that  I  concluded  myself  quite  lost 
with  him,  from  my  evident  solicitude  in  poor  Mr.  Hastings's 
cause.  I  could  not  wish  that  less  obvious,  thinkimr  as  I 
think  of  it ;  but  I  felt  infinitely  grieved  to  lose  the  favor 
of  a  man  whom,  in  all  other  articles,  I  so  much  venerate, 
and  whom,  indeed,  I  esteem  and  admire  as  the  very  first 
man  of  true  genius  now  living  in  this  country. 

Mrs.  Crewe  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Elliot :  I  am  sure  we 
were  already  personally  known  to  each  other,  for  I  liave 
seen  him  perpetually  in  the  managers'  box,  whence,  as 
often,  he  must  have  seen  me  in  the  Great  Chamberlain's. 
He  is  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  plain  in  face,  dress,  and 
manner,  but  sensible,  and  possibly  much  besides ;  he  was 
reserved,  however,  and  little  else  appeared. 

The  moment  I  was  named,  to  my  great  joy  I  found  Mr. 
Burke  had  not  recollected  me.     He  is  more  near  sighted. 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  273 

considerably  than  myself.  "  Miss  Burney  !  "  he  now  ex- 
claimed, coming  forward,  and  quite  kindly  taking  my  liaud, 
"  I  did  not  see  you ; "  and  then  he  spoke  very  sweet  words 
of  the  meeting,  and  of  my  looking  far  better  than  "  while 
I  was  a  courtier,  "  and  of  how  he  rejoiced  to  see  that  I  so 
little  suited  that  station.  "  You  look,"  cried  he,  "  quite 
renewed,  revived,  disengaged;  you  seemed,  when  I  con- 
versed with  you  last,  at  the  trial,  quite  altered  ;  I  never 
saw  such  a  change  for  the  better  as  quitting  a  court  has 
brought  about ! " 

Ah !  thought  I,  this  is  simply  a  mistake,  from  reasoning 
according  to  your  own  feelings.  I  only  seemed  altered  for 
the  worse  at  the  trial,  because  I  there  looked  coldly  and 
distantly,  from  distaste  and  disaffection  to  your  proceedings ; 
and  I  here  look  changed  for  the  better,  only  because  I 
here  meet  you  without  the  chill  of  disapprobation,  an  1 
with  the  glow  of  my  first  admiration  of  you  and  your 
talents ! 

Mrs.  Crewe  gave  him  her  place,  and  he  sat  by  me,  and 
entered  into  a  most  animated  conversation  upon  Lord 
Macartney  and  his  Chinese  expedition,  and  the  two  Chinese 
youths  who  were  to  accompany  it.  These  last  he  described 
minutely,  and  spoke  of  the  extent  of  the  undertaking  in 
high,  and  perhaps  fanciful,  terms,  but  with  allusions  and 
anecdotes  intermixed,  so  full  of  general  information  and 
brilliant  ideas,  that  I  soon  felt  the  whole  of  my  first  en- 
thusiasm return,  and  with  it  a  sensation  of  pleasure  that 
made  the  day  delicious  to  me. 

After  this  my  father  joined  us,  and  politics  took  the  lead. 
He  spoke  then  with  an  eagerness  and  a  vehemence  that 
instantly  banished  the  graces,  though  it  redoul)led  the 
energies,  of  his  discourse.  "  The  French  Eevolution,"  he 
said,  "which  began  by  authorizing  and  legalizing  injustice, 
and  which  by  rapid  steps  had  proceeded  to  every  species 

VOL.  II.  18 


274  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

of  despotism  except  owning  a  despot,  was  now  menacing 
all  the  universe  and  all  mankind  with  the  most  violent 
concussion  of  principle  and  order.  "  My  father  heartily 
joined,  and  I  tacitly  assented  to  his  doctrines,  though  T 
feared  not  with  his  fears. 

One  speech  I  must  repeat,  for  it  is  explanatory  of  his 
conduct,  and  nobly  explanatory.  When  he  had  expatiated 
upon  the  present  dangers,  even  to  English  liberty  and 
property,  from  the  contagion  of  havoc  and  novelty,  he 
earnestly  exclaimed,  "This  it  is  that  has  made  me  an 
abettor  and  supporter  of  Kings  !  Kings  are  necessary,  and, 
if  we  would  preserve  peace  and  prosperity,  we  must  pre- 
serve THEM.  We  must  all  put  our  shoulders  to  the  work  ! 
Ay,  and  stoutly,  too  !  " 

Some  time  after,  speaking  of  former  days,  you  may  be- 
lieve I  was  struck  enough  to  hear  Mr.  Burke  say  to  Mrs. 
Crewe,  "  I  wish  you  had  known  Mrs.  Delany !  She  was  a 
pattern  of  a  perfect  fine  lady,  a  real  fine  lady,  of  other  days  ! 
Her  manners  were  faultless ;  her  deportment  was  all  ele- 
gance, her  speech  was  all  sweetness,  and  her  air  and  address 
all  dignity.  I  always  looked  up  to  her  as  the  model  of  an 
accomplished  woman  of  former  times." 

Do  you  think  I  heard  such  a  testimony  to  my  beloved 
departed  friend  unmoved  ? 

Afterwards,  still  to  Mrs.  Crewe,  he  proceeded  to  say 
she  had  been  married  to  Mr.  Wycherley,  the  author. 
There  I  ventured  to  interrupt  him,  and  tell  him  I  fancied 
that  must  be  some  great  mistake,  as  I  had  been  well 
acquainted  with  her  history  from  her  own  mouth.  He 
seemed  to  have  heard  it  from  some  good  authority ;  but  1 
could  by  no  means  accord  my  belief,  as  her  real  life  and 
memoirs  had  been  so  long  in  my  hands,  written  by  herself 
to  a  certain  period,  and,  for  some  way,  continued  by  me. 
This,  however,  I  did  not  mention. 


1792.1  *         OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  .275 

June  27th.  —  My  father  took  me  again  to  Mrs.  Crewe, 
in  Grosvenor-street. 

We  set  out  for  Long  Acre,  to  see  Lord  Macartney's 
chariots  for  the  Emperor  of  China.  Mrs.  Crewe  is  par- 
ticularly interested  in  all  that  belongs  to  this  embassy, 
both  because  her  son  will  accompany  it,  and  because  Lord 
Macartney  is  her  intimate  friend,  as  well  as  near  relation. 
I  leave  to  the  newspapers  your  description  of  these  superb 
carriages. 

We  next  proceeded  to  the  Shakespeare  Gallery,  which  I 
had  never  seen.  And  here  we  met  with  an  adventure  that 
finished  our  morning's  excursions. 

There  was  a  lady  in  the  first  room,  dressed  rather  sin- 
gularly, quite  alone,  and  extremely  handsome,  who  was 
parading  about  with  a  nosegay  in  her  hand,  which  she 
frequently  held  to  her  nose,  in  a  manner  that  was  evidently 
calculated  to  attract  notice.  We  therefore  passed  on  to 
the  inner  room,  to  avoid  her.  Here  we  had  but  just  all 
taken  our  stand  opposite  different  pictures,  when  she  also 
entered,  and,  coming  pretty  close  to  my  father,  sniffed  at 
her  flowers  with  a  sort  of  ecstatic  eagerness,  and  then  let 
them  fall.  My  father  picked  them  up,  and  gravely  j^re- 
sented  them  to  her.  She  curtseyed  to  the  ground  in 
receiving  them,  and  presently  crossed  over  the  room,  and, 
brushing  past  Mrs.  Crewe,  seated  herself  immediately  by 
her  elbow.  Mrs.  Crewe,  not  admiring  this  familiarity, 
moved  away,  giving  her  at  the  same  time  a  look  of  digni- 
fied distance  that  was  almost  petrifying. 

It  did  not  prove  so  to  this  lady,  who  presently  followed 
her  to  the  next  picture,  and,  sitting  as  close  as  she  could  to 
where  Mrs.  Crewe  stood,  began  singing  various  quick  pas- 
sages, without  words  or  connection.  I  saw  Mrs.  Crewe 
much  alarmed,  and  advanced  to  stand  by  her,  meaning  to 
whisper  her  that  we  had  better  leave  the  room  ;  and  this 


276  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

idea  was  not  checked  by  seeing  that  the  flowers  were  arti- 
ficial. By  the  looks  we  interchanged  we  soon  mutually 
said,  "  This-  is  a  mad  woman."  We  feared  irritating  her 
by  a  sudden  flight,  but  gently  retreated,  and  soon  got 
quietly  into  the  large  room  ;  when  she  bounced  up  with  a 
great  noise,  and,  throwing  the  veil  of  her  bonnet  back,  as  if 
fighting  it,  she  looked  after  us,  pointing  to  Mrs.  Crewe. 

Seriously  frightened,  Mrs.  Crewe  seized  my  father's  arm, 
and  hurried  up  two  or  three  steps  into  a  small  apartment. 
Here  Mrs.  Crewe,  addressing  herself  to  an  elderly  gentle- 
man, asked  if  he  could  inform  the  people  below  that  a 
mad  woman  was  terrifying  the  company ;  and  while  he 
was  receiving  her  commission  with  the  most  profound  re- 
spect, and  with  an  evident  air  of  admiring  astonishment  at 
her  beauty,  we  heard  a  rustling,  and,  looking  round,  saw 
the  same  figure  hastily  striding  after  us,  and  in  an  instant 
at  our  elbows.  Mrs.  Crewe  turned  quite  pale  ;  it  was  pal- 
pable she  was  the  object  pursued,  and  she  most  civilly  and 
meekly  articulated,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  as  she 
hastily  passed  her,  and  hurried  down  the  steps. 

We  were  going  to  run  for  our  lives,  when  Miss  Towns- 
hend  whispered  Mrs.  Crewe  it  was  only  Mrs.  Wells,  the 
actress,  and  said  she  was  certainly  only  performing  vaga- 
ries to  try  effect,  which  she  was  quite  famous  for  doing. 

It  would  have  been  food  for  a  painter  to  have  seen  Mrs. 
Crewe  during  this  explanation.  All  her  terror  instantly 
gave  way  to  indignation ;  and  scarcely  any  pencil  could 
equal  the  high  vivid  glow  of  her  cheeks.  To  find  herself 
made  the  object  of  game  to  the  burlesque  humor  of  a  bold 
player,  was  an  indignity  she  could  not  brook,  and  her  mind 
was  immediately  at  work  how  to  assist  lierself  against  such 
unprovoked  and  unauthorized  effrontery.  The  elderly 
gentleman  who,  with  great  eagerness,  had  followed  Mrs. 
Crewe,  accompanied  by  a  young  man  who  was  of  his  party, 


1792.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  277 

requested  more  particularly  her  commands ;  but  before 
Mrs.  Crewe's  astonishment  and  resentment  found  words, 
Mrs.  Wells,  singing,  and  throwing  herself  into  extravagant 
attitudes,  again  rushed  down  the  steps,  and  fixed  her  eyes 
on  Mrs.  Crewe. 

This,  however,  no  longer  served  her  purpose.  Mrs. 
Crewe  fixed  her  in  return,  and  with  a  firm,  composed, 
commanding  air  and  look  that,  though  it  did  not  make 
this  strange  creature  retreat,  somewhat  disconcerted  her 
for  a  few  minutes.  She  then  presently  affected  a  violent 
coughing  —  such  a  one  as  almost  shook  the  room  ;  though 
such  a  forced  and  unnatural  noise  as  rather  resembled 
howling  than  a  cold. 

This  over,  and  perceiving  Mrs.  Crewe  still  steadily  keep- 
ing her  ground,  she  had  the  courage  to  come  up  to  us,  and, 
with  a  flippant  air,  said  to  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  Pray, 
sir,  will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  o'clock  ?  "  He  looked  vexed 
to  be  called  a  moment  from  looking  at  Mrs.  Crewe,  and, 
with  a  forbidding  gravity,  answered  her  —  "About  two." 

"  No  offence,  I  hope,  sir  ? "  cried  she,  seeing  him  turn 
eagerly  from  her.  He  bowed  without  looking  at  her,  and 
she  strutted  away,  still,  however,  keeping  in  sight,  and 
playing  vari/!ius  tricks,  her  eyes  perpetually  turned  towards 
Mrs.  Crcv^^j,  who  as  regularly  met  them,  with  an  expres- 
sion suQ^i  as  might  have  turned  a  softer  culprit  to  stone. 

Our  cabal  was  again  renewed,  and  ]\Irs.  Crewe  again 
told/this  gentleman  to  make  known  to  the  proprietors  of 
tl>\i  gallery  that  this  person  was  a  nuisance  to  the  company, 
Xvhen,  suddenly  reapproaching  us,  she  called  out,  ''  Sir ! 
sir !  "  to  the  younger  of  our  new  protectors.  He  colored, 
and  looked  much  alarmed,  but  only  bowed. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  cried  she,  "  what 's  o'clock  ? "  He  looked  at 
his  watch,  and  answered.  "  You  don't  take  it  ill,  I  hope, 
sir  ? "  she  cried.     He  only  bowed. 


278       '  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

"  I  do  no  harm,  sir,"  said  she  ;  "  I  never  bite  !  "  The 
poor  young  man  looked  aghast,  and  bowed  lower ;  but 
Mrs.  Crewe,  addressing  herself  to  the  elder,  said  aloud,  "  I 
beg  you,  sir,  to  go  to  Mr.  Boydell ;  you  may  name  me  to 
him — Mrs.  Crewe." 

Mrs.  Wells  at  this  walked  away,  yet  stiU  in  sight. 

"  You  may  tell  him  what  has  happened,  sir,  in  all  our 
names.     You  may  tell  him  Miss  Burney  —  " 

"0  no ! "  cried  I,  in  a  horrid  fright,  "  I  beseech  I  may 
not  be  named !  And,  indeed,  ma'am,  it  may  be  better  to 
let  it  all  alone.  It  will  do  no  good ;  and  it  may  all  get 
into  the  newspapers." 

"  And  if  it  does,"  cried  Mrs.  Crewe,  "  what  is  it  to  us  ? 
We  have  done  nothing ;  we  have  given  no  offence,  and 
made  no  disturbance.  This  person  has  frightened  us  all 
w'ilfully,  and  utterly  without  provocation ;  and  now  she 
can  frighten  us  no  longer,  she  would  brave  us.  Let  her 
tell  her  own  story,  and  how  will  it  harm  us  ? " 

"  Still,"  cried  I,  "  I  must  always  fear  being  brought 
into  any  newspaper  cabals.  Let  the  fact  be  ever  so  much 
against  her,  she  will  think  the  circumstances  all  to  her 
honor  if  a  paragraph  comes  out  beginning  '  Mrs.  Crewe 
and  Mrs.  Wells.'  "  Mrs.  Crewe  liked  this  sound  as  little 
as  I  should  have  liked  it  in  placing  my  own  name  where  I 
put  hers.  She  hesitated  a  little  what  to  do,  and  we  all 
walked  downstairs,  where  instantly  this  bold  woman  fol- 
lowed us,  paraded  up  and  down  the  long  shop  with  a  dra- 
matic air  while  our  group  was  in  conference,  and  then, 
sitting  down  at  the  clerk's  desk,  and  calling  in  a  footman, 
she  desired  him  to  wait  while  she  wrote  a  note.  She  scrib- 
bled a  few  lines,  and  read  aloud  her  direction,  "  To  Mr. 
Topham  ; "  and  giving  the  note  to  the  man,  said,  "  Tell  your 
master  that  is  something  to  make  him  laugh.  Bid  him  not 
send  to  the  press  till  I  see  him."     Now  as  Mr.  Topham  is 


1792.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  279 

the  editor  of  "  The  World,"  and  notoriously  her  protector,  as 
her  having  his  footman  acknowledged,  this  looked  rather 
serious,  and  Mrs.  Crewe  began  to  partake  of  my  alarm. 
She  therefore,  to  my  infinite  satisfaction,  told  her  new 
friend  that  she  desired  he  would  name  no  names,  but 
merely  mention  that  some  ladies  had  been  frightened. 
I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  gain  this  point,  and  the  good 
gentleman  seemed  enchanted  with  any  change  that  occa- 
sioned a  longer  discourse.  We  then  got  into  Mrs.  Crewe's 
carriage,  and  not  till  then  would  this  facetious  Mrs.  Wells 
quit  the  shop.  And  she  walked  in  sight,  dodging  us,  and 
playing  antics  of  a  tragic  sort  of  gesture,  till  we  drove 
out  of  her  power  to  keep  up  with  us.  What  a  strange 
creature ! 


Mrs.  rhillips  to  Miss  Barney. 

MiCKLEHAM,  September,  1792. 

We  shall  shortly,  I  believe,  have  a  little  colony  of  un- 
fortunate (or  rather,  fortunate,  since  here  they  are  safe) 
French  noblesse  in  our  neighborhood.  Sunday  evening 
Eavely  informed  Mr.  Locke  that  two  or  three  families  had 
joined  to  take  Jenkinson's  house,  Juniper  Hall,  and  that 
another  family  had  taken  a  small  house  at  Westhamble, 
which  the  people  very  reluctantly  let,  upon  the  Christian- 
like supposition  that,  being  nothing  but  French  papishes, 
they  would  never  pay.  Our  dear  Mr.  Locke,  while  tliis 
was  aoitatina,  sent  word  to  the  landlord  that  he  would  be 
answerable  for  the  rent ;  however,  before  this  message  ar- 
rived, the  family  were  admitted.  The  man  said  they  had 
pleaded  very  hard  indeed,  and  said,  if  he  did  but  know 
the  distress  they  had  been  in,  he  would  not  liesitate. 

This  house  is  taken  by  Madame  de  Broglie,  daughter  of 
the  Marechal,  who  is  in  the  army  with  the  French  Princes ; 


280  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

or,  rather,  wife  to  his  son,  Victor  Broglie,  till  very  lately- 
General  of  one  of  the  French  armies,  and  at  present  dis- 
graced, and  fled  nobody  knows  where.  This  poor  lady 
came  over  in  an  open  boat,  with  a  son  younger  than  my 
Norbury,  and  was  fourteen  hours  at  sea.  She  has  other 
ladies  with  her,  and  gentlemen,  and  two  little  girls,  who 
had  been  sent  to  England  some  weeks  ago ;  they  are  all  to 
lodge  in  a  sort  of  cottage,  containing  only  a  kitchen  and 
parlor  on  the  ground  floor.  I  long  to  offer  them  my  house, 
and  have  been  much  gratified  by  finding  Mr.  Locke  imme- 
diately determined  to  visit  them ;  his  taking  this  step  will 
secure  them  the  civilities,  at  least,  of  the  other  neighbors. 

At  Jenkinson's  are  —  la  Marquise  de  la  Chatre,  whose 
husband  is  with  the  emigrants  ;  her  son  ;  M.  de  Narbonne, 
lately  Ministre  de  la  Guerre  ;  M.  de  Montmorency  ;  Charles 
or  Tiieodore  Lameth ;  Jaucourt ;  and  one  or  two  more, 
whose  names  I  have  forgotten,  are  either  arrived  to-day,  or 
expected.  I  feel  infinitely  interested  for  all  these  perse- 
cuted persons.  Pray  tell  me  whatever  you  hear  of  M.  de 
Liancourt,  &c.     Heaven  bless  you  ! 

Friday,  October  5th.  —  I  left  Halstead,  and  set  off, 
alone,  for  Bradfield  Hall,  which  was  but  one  stage  of  nine- 
teen miles  distant. 

Sarah,  who  was  staying  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Young,  ex- 
pected me,  and  came  running  out  before  the  chaise  stopped 
at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Young  following,  with  both  hands  full 
of  French  newspapers.  He  welcomed  me  with  all  his  old 
spirit  and  impetuosity,  exclaiming  his  house  never  had 
been  so  honored  since  its  foundation,  nor  ever  could  be 
again,  unless  I  re-visited  it  in  my  way  back,  even  tliough 
all  England  came  in  the  mean  time  ! 

Do  you  not  know  him  well,  my  Susan,  by  this  opening 
rhodomontade  ? 


1792.1  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  281 

"  But  where,"  cried  he,  "  is  Hetty  ?  0  that  Hetty  !  Why 
did  you  not  bring  her  with  you  ?  That  wonderful  creature  ! 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  mount  horse,  and  gallop  to  Halstead 
to  claim  her  !  What  is  there  there  to  merit  her  ?  What 
kind  of  animals  have  you  left  her  with  ?  Anything  capa- 
.  ble  of  understanding  her  ?  " 

The  rest  of  the  day  we  spoke  only  of  French  politics. 
Mr.  Young  ^  is  a  severe  penitent  of  his  democratic  princi- 
ples, and  has  lost  even  all  pity  for  the  Constituant  R^volu- 
iionnaires,  who  had  "  taken  him  in  "  by  their  doctrines,  but 
cured  him  by  their  practice,  and  who  "  ought  better  to  have 
known  what  they  were  about  before  they  presumed  to 
enter  into  action." 

Even  the  Due  de  Liancourt,  who  was  then  in  a  small 
house  at  Bury,  merited,  he  said,  all  the  personal  misfortunes 
that  had  befallen  him.  "  I  have  real  obligations  to  him," 
he  added,  "  and  therefore  I  am  anxious  to  show  him  any 
respect,  and  do  him  any  service,  in  his  present  reverse  of 
fortune ;  but  he  has  brought  it  all  on  himself,  and,  what  is 
worse,  on  his  country." 

He  wrote  him,  however,  a  note  to  invite  him  to  dinner 
the  next  day.  The  Duke  wrote  an  answer,  that  he  lamented 
excessively  being  engaged  to  meet  Lord  Euston,  ancT  dine 
with  the  Bury  aldermen. 

I  must  now  tell  you  the  history  of  this  poor  Duke's 
arriving  in  England,  for  it  involves  a  revival  of  loyalty  — 

^  Arthur  Young  was  the  son  of  a  learned  divine  who  held  a  prebendal 
stall  in  Canterbury  Cathedral.  He  was  born  in  1741,  and  nearly  the 
whole  of  his  long  life  was  devoted  to  studies  and  pursuits  connected  with 
the  improvement  of  English  agiiculture.  He  first  became  known  to  the 
world  in  1770,  by  the  publication  of  a  useful  work  called  "The  Farmer's 
Calendar."  Subsequently  he  established  and  conducted  a  periodical  enti- 
tled "  Annals  of  Agriculture."  These  publications  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  government  ;  and  he  was  employed  to  obtain  information  for  them 
throughout  the  country. 


282  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  11792. 

an  effort  to  make  some  amends  to  his  unhappy  sovereign 
for  the  misery  into  which  he  had  largely  contributed  to 
plunge  him  —  which,  with  me,  has  made  his  peace  for 
ever. 

But  first  I  should  tell,  he  was  the  man  who  almost  com- 
pelled the  every- way-deluded  Louis  to  sanction  the  National 
Assembly  by  his  presence  when  first  it  resisted  his  orders. 
The  Queen  and  all  her  party  were  strongly  against  the 
measure,  and  prophesied  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  his  author- 
ity ;  but  the  Duke,  highly  ambitious  of  fame,  as  Mr.  Young 
describes  him,  and  willing  to  sacrifice  everything  to  the 
new  systems  then  pervading  all  France,  suddenly  rushed 
into  his  closet,  upon  the  privilege  of  being  one  of  the  five 
or  seven  Pairs  de  France  who  have  that  license,  and,  with 
a  strong  and  forcible  eloquence,  declared  nothing  but  his 
concession  would  save  the  nation  from  a  civil  war ;  while 
his  entering,  unarmed,  into  the  National  Assembly,  would 
make  him  be  regarded  for  ever  as  the  father  and  saviour  of 
his  people,  and  secure  him  the  powerful  sovereignty  of  the 
grateful  hearts  of  all  his  subjects. 

He  succeeded,  and  the  rest  is  public. 

In  what  manner  he  effected  his  escape  out  of  Rouen  he 
has  never  mentioned.  I  believe  he  was  assisted  by  those 
who,  remaining  behind,  could  only  be  named  to  be  torn  in 
pieces  for  their  humanity.  The  same  French  gentleman 
whom  I  have  just  mentioned,  M.  Jamard,  a  French  priest, 
tells  me  no  human  being  knows  when  or  how  he  got  away, 
and  none  suspected  him  to  be  gone  for  two  days.  He  went 
first  to  Abbeville  ;  there,  for  two  days,  he  appeared  every- 
where, walking  about  in  his  regimentals,  and  assuming  an 
air  of  having  nothing  to  apprehend.  This  succeeded,  as  his 
indiscretion  had  not  yet  spread  at  Abbeville ;  but,  mean- 
while, a  youth  whom  he  had  brought  up  from  a  child,  and 
on  whose  fond  regard  and  respect  he  could  rely,  was  em- 


1792.]  OF    MADAME    D'aRBLAY.  283 

ployed  in  seeking  him  the  means  of  passing  over  to  Eng- 
land. This  was  infinitely  difficult,  as  he  was  to  leave 
France  without  any  passport. 

How  he  quitted  Abbeville  I  know  not ;  but  he  was  in 
another  town,  near  the  coast,  three  days,  still  waiting  for 
a  safe  conveyance ;  and  here  finding  his  danger  increased 
greatly  by  delay,  he  went  to  some  common  house,  without 
dress  or  equipage  or  servants  that  could  betray  liim,  and 
spent  his  whole  time  in  bed,  under  pretence  of  indisposi- 
tion, to  avoid  being  seen. 

At  length  his  faithful  young  groom  succeeded ;  and  he 
got,  at  midnight,  into  a  small  boat,  with  only  two  men. 
He  had  been  taken  for  the  King  of  France  by  one,  who  had 
refused  to  convey  him ;  and  some  friend,  who  assisted  his 
escape,  was  forced  to  get  him  off,  at  last,  by  holding  a  pistol 
to  the  head  of  his  conductor,  and  protesting  he  would  shoot 
him  through  and  through,  if  lie  made  further  demur,  or 
spoke  aloud.     It  was  dark,  and  midnight. 

Both  he  and  his  groom  planted  themselves  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat,  and  were  covered  with  fagots,  lest  any 
pursuit  should  ensue  ;  and  thus  wretchedly  they  were  suf- 
focated till  they  thought  themselves  at  a  safe  distance  from 
France.  The  poor  youth  then,  first  looking  up,  exclaimed, 
"  Ah  !  nous  sommes  perdus  !  they  are  carrying  us  back  to 
our  own  country ! "  The  Duke  started  up ;  he  had  the 
same  opinion,  but  thought  opposition  vain ;  he  charged  him 
to  keep  silent  and  quiet;  and  after  about  another  league, 
they  found  this,  at  least,  a  false  alarm,  owing  merely  to  a 
thick  fog  or  mist. 

At  length  they  landed  —  at  Hastings,  I  think.  The  boat- 
man had  his  money,  and  they  walked  on  to  the  nearest 
public-house.  The  Duke,  to  seem  English,  called  for  "  Pot 
Portere.  "  It  was  brought  him,  and  he  drank  it  off  in  two 
draughts,  his  drought  being  extreme  ;  and  he  called  for  an- 


284  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1792. 

other  instantly.  That  also,  without  any  suspicion  or  recol- 
lection of  consequences  was  as  hastily  swallowed. ;  and 
what  ensued  he  knows  not.  He  was  intoxicated,  and  fell 
into  a  profound  sleep.  His  groom  helped  the  people  of  the 
house  to  carry  him  upstairs  and  put  him  to  bed.  How 
long  he  slept  he  knows  not,  but  he  woke  in  the  middle  uf 
the  night  without  the  smallest  consciousness  of  where  he 
was,  or  what  had  happened.  France  alone  was  in  his  bead 
—  France  and  its  horrors,  which  nothing,  not  even  Euo-lish 
porter  and  intoxication  and  sleep,  could  drive  away. 

He  looked  round  the  room  with  amaze  at  first,  and  soon 
after  with  consternation.  It  was  so  unfurnished,  so  miser- 
able, so  lighted  with  only  one  small  bit  of  a  candle,  that 
it  occurred  to  him  he  was  in  a  maison  de  force  —  thither 
conveyed  in  his  sleep. 

The  stillness  of  everything  confirmed  this  dreadful  idea. 
He  arose,  slipped  on  his  clothes,  and  listened  at  the  door. 
He  heard  no  sound.  He  was  scarce  yet,  I  supposed,  quite 
awake,  for  he  took  the  candle,  and  determined  to  make  an 
attempt  to  escape. 

Downstairs  he  crept,  neither  hearing  nor  making  any 
noise  ;  and  he  found  himself  in  a  kitchen  :  he  looked  round, 
and  the  brightness  of  a  shelf  of  pewter  plates  struck  his 
eye ;  under  them  were  pots  and  kettles,  shining  and  pol- 
ished. "Ah!"  cried  he  to  himself,  "  je  suis  en  Angleterre  !  " 
The  recollection  came  all  at  once  at  sight  of  a  cleanliness 
which,  in  these  articles,  he  says,  is  never  met  with  in 
France. 

I  am  much  interested  in  Susan's  account  of  poor  Madame 
de  Broglie.  How  terribly,  I  fear,  all  is  proceeding  in  France  ! 
I  tremble  at  such  apparent  triumph  to  such  atrocious  cru- 
elty ;  and  though  I  doubt  not  these  wretches  will  destroy 
one  another  while  combatting  for  superiority,  they  will  not 
set  about  that  crying  retribution,  for  which  justice  seems 


1792.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  285 

to  sicken,  till  they  have  first  utterly  annihilated  all  manner 
of  people,  better,  softer,  or  more  human  than  themselves. 

The  Duke  accepted  the  invitation  for  to-day,  and  came 
early,  on  horseback.  He  had  just  been  able  to  get  over 
some  two  or  three  of  his  horses  from  France.  He  has  since, 
I  hear,  been  forced  to  sell  them. 

Mrs.  Young  was  not  able  to  appear  ;  Mr.  Young  came  to 
my  room  door  to  beg  I  would  waste  no  time  ;  Sarah  and  I, 
therefore,  proceeded  to  the  drawing-room.  The  Duke  was 
playing  with  a  favorite  dog  —  the  thing,  probably,  the 
most  dear  to  him  in  England  ;  for  it  was  just  brought  him 
over  by  his  faithful  groom,  whom  he  had  sent  back  upon 
business  to  his  son.  He  is  very  tall,  and,  were  his  figure 
less,  would  be  too  fat,  but  all  is  in  proportion.  His  face, 
which  is  very  handsome,  though  not  critically  so,  has 
rather  a  haughty  expression  when  left  to  itself,  but  be- 
comes soft  and  spirited  in  turn,  according  to  whom  he 
speaks,  and  has  great  play  and  variety.  His  deportment 
is  quite  noble,  and  in  a  style  to  announce  conscious  rank 
even  to  the  most  sedulous  equalizer.  His  carriage  is  pecu- 
liarly upright,  and  his  person  uncommonly  well  made. 
His  manners  are  such  as  only  admit  of  comparison  with 
what  we  have  read,  not  wdiat  we  have  seen ;  for  he  has  all 
the  air  of  a  man  who  would  wish  to  lord  over  men,  but  to 
cast  himself  at  the  feet  of  women. 

He  was  in  mourning  for  his  barbarously-murdered  cousin, 
the  Due  de  la  Eochefoucault.  His  first  address  was  of  the 
highest  style.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  recollect  his  words, 
but  they  were  most  elegantly  expressive  of  his  satisfaction 
in  a  meeting  he  had  long,  he  said,  desired. 

With  Sarah  he  then  shook  hands.  She  had  been  his 
interpretess  here  on  his  arrival,  and  he  seems  to  have  con- 
ceived a  real  kindness  for  her ;  an  honor  of  which  she  is 
extremely  sensible,  and  with  reason. 


286  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

A  little  general  talk  ensued,  and  he  made  a  point  of 
curing  Sarah  of  being  afraid  of  his  dog.  He  made  no 
secret  of  thinking  it  affectation,  and  never  rested  till  he 
had  conquered  it  completely.  I  saw  here,  in  the  midst  of 
all  that  at  first  so  powerfully  struck  me,  of  dignity,  impor- 
tance, and  high-breeding,  a  true  French  polisson ;  for  he 
called  the  dog  round  her,  made  it  jump  on  her  shoulder, 
and  amused  himself  as,  in  England,  only  a  schoolboy  or  a 
professed  fox-hunter  would  have  dreamt  of  doing. 

This,  however,  recovered  me  to  a  little  ease,  which  his 
compliment  had  rather  overset.  Mr.  Young  hung  back, 
nearly  quite  silent.  Sarah  was  quiet  when  reconciled  to 
the  dog,  or,  rather,  subdued  by  the  Duke ;  and  then,  when 
I  thought  it  completely  out  of  his  head,  he  tranquilly  drew 
a  chair  next  mine,  and  began  a  sort  of  separate  conversa- 
tion, which  he  suffered  nothing  to  interrupt  till  we  were 
summoned  to  dinner. 

His  subject  was  "  Cecilia  ; "  and  he  seemed  not  to  have 
the  smallest  idea  I  could  object  to  discussing  it,  any  more 
than  if  it  had  been  the  work  of  another  person. 

I  answered  all  his  demands  and  interrogatories  with  a 
degree  of  openness  I  have  never  answered  any  other  upon 
this  topic ;  but  the  least  hope  of  beguiling  the  misery  of 
an  Emigre  tames  me. 

Mr.  Young  listened  with  amaze,  and  all  his  ears,  to  the 
many  particulars  and  elucidations  which  the  Duke  drew 
from  me  ;  he  repeatedly  called  out  he  had  heard  nothing  of 
them  before,  and  rejoiced  he  was  at  least  present  when  they 
were  communicated. 

This  proved,  at  length,  an  explanation  to  the  Duke  him- 
self, that,  the  moment  he  understood,  made  him  draw  back, 
saying,  "  Peut-etre  que  je  suis  indiscret  ?  "  However,  he 
soon  returned  to  tlie  charge ;  and  when  Mr.  Young  made 
any  more  exclamations,  he  heeded  them  not :  he  smiled, 


1792.J  OF  MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  287 

indeed,  when  Sarah  also  affirmed  he  had  procured  accounts 
she  had  never  heard  before ;  but  he  has  all  the  air  of  a 
man  not  new  to  any  mark  of  more  than  common  favor. 

At  length  we  were  called  to  dinner,  during  which  he 
spoke  of  general  things.  The  French  of  Mr.  Young,  at 
table,  was  very  comic ;  he  never  hesitates  for  a  word,  but 
puts  English  where  he  is  at  a  loss,  with  a  mock  French 
pronunciation.  Monsieur  Due,  as  he  calls  him,  laughed 
once  or  twice,  but  clapped  him  on  the  back,  called  him 
un  brave  liomme,  and  gave  him  instruction  as  well  as  en- 
couragement in  all  his  blunders.  When  the  servants  were 
gone,  the  Duke  asked  me  if  anybody  might  write  a  letter 
to  the  King  ?  I  fancy  he  had  some  personal  idea  of  this 
kind.  I  told  him  yes,  but  through  the  hands  of  a  Lord  of 
the  Bedchamber,  or  some  state  officer,  or  a  Minister.  He 
seemed  pensive,  but  said  no  more. 

He  inquired,  however,  if  I  had  not  read  to  the  Queen ; 
and  seemed  to  wish  to  understand  my  office  ;  but  here  he  was 
far  more  circumspect  than  about  "  Cecilia."  He  has  lived 
so  much  in  a  Court,  that  lie  knew  exactly  liow  far  he  might 
inquire  with  the  most  scrupulous  punctilio.  He  inquired 
very  particularly  after  your  Juniper  colony,  and  M.  de 
Narbonne,  but  said  he  most  wished  to  meet  with  M.  d'Ar- 
blay,  who  was  a  friend  and  favorite  of  his  eldest  son. 

[It  is  hoped  that  some  pages  from  Mrs.  Phillips's  jour- 
nalizing letters  to  her  sister,  written  at  this  period,  may 
not  be  unacceptable ;  since  they  give  particulars  concern- 
ing several  distinguished  actors  and  sufferers  in  the  French 
Eevolution,  and  also  contain  the  earliest  description  of  M. 
d'Arblay.] 


288  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

Mrs.  Phillips  to  3Iiss  Burner/. 

MiCKLEHAM,  November,  1792. 

It  gratifies  me  very  much  that  I  liave  been  able  to  in- 
terest you  for  our  amiable  and  charming  neighbors. 

Mrs.  Locke  had  been  so  kind  as  to  pave  the  way  for 
my  introduction  to  Madame  de  la  Chatre,  and  carried 
me  on  Friday  to  Juniper  Hall,  where  we  found  M.  de 
]\Iontmorency,  a  ci-devant  due,  and  one  who  gave  some  of 
the  first  great  examples  of  sacrificing  personal  interest  to 
what  was  then  considered  the  public  good.  I  know  not 
whether  you  will  like  him  the  better  when  I  tell  you  that 
from  him  proceeded  the  motion  for  the  abolition  of  titles 
in  France ;  but  if  you  do  not,  let  me,  in  his  excuse,  tell 
you  he  was  scarcely  one-and-twenty  when  an  enthusiastic 
spirit  impelled  him  to  this,  I  believe,  ill-judged  and  mis- 
chievous act.  jMy  curiosity  was  greatest  to  see  M.  de  Jau- 
court,  because  I  remembered  many  lively  and  spirited 
speeches  made  by  him  during  the  time  of  the  AsscmhMe 
Legislative,  and  that  he  was  a  warm  defender  of  my  favorite 
hero,  M.  Lafayette. 

Of  M.  de  Narbonne's  abilities  we  could  have  no  doubt 
from  his  speeches  and  letters  whilst  Ministre  de  la  Guerre, 
which  post  he  did  not  quit  till  last  May.  By  his  own 
desire  he  then  joined  Lafayette's  army,  and  acted  under 
him ;  but,  on  the  10th  of  August,  he  was  involved,  with 
perhaps  nearly  all  the  most  honorable  and  worthy  of  the 
French  nobility,  accused  as  a  traitor  by  the  Jacobins,  and 
obliged  to  fly  from  his  country. 

M.  d'Argenson  was  already  returned  to  France,  and  Ma- 
dame de  Broglie  had  set  out  the  same  day,  November  2nd, 
hoping  to  escape  the  decree  against  emigrants. 

Madame  de  la  Chatre  received  us  with  great  politeness. 
She  is  about  thirty-three ;  an  elegant  figure,  not  pretty. 


1792.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  289 

but  with  an  animated  and  expressive  countenance ;  very 
well  read,  pleine  d'esprit,  and,  I  think,  very  lively  and 
charming. 

A  gentleman  was  with  her  whom  Mrs.  Locke  had  not 
yet  seen,  M.  d'Arblay.  She  introduced  him,  and,  when  he 
had  quitted  the  room,  told  us  he  was  adjutant-general  to 
M.  Lafayette,  mar^chal  de  camp,  and  in  short  the  first  in 
military  rank  of  those  who  had  accompanied  that  general 
when  he  so  unfortunately  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Prus- 
sians ;  hut,  not  having  been  one  of  the  AssemUee  Constit- 
uante,  he  was  allowed,  with  four  others,  to  proceed  into 
Holland,  and  there  M.  de  Narbonne  wrote  to  him.  "  Et 
corame  il  I'aime  infiniment,"  said  Madame  de  la  Chatre, 
"  il  I'a  prie  de  venir  vivre  avec  lui."  ^  He  had  arrived  only 
two  days  before.  He  is  tall,  and  a  good  figure,  with  an 
open  and  manly  countenance ;  about  forty,  I  imagine. 

It  was  past  twelve.  However,  Madame  de  la  Chatre 
owned  she  had  not  breakfasted  —  ces  messieurs  were  not 
yet  ready.  A  little  man,  who  looked  very  triste  indeed,  in 
an  old-fashioned  suit  of  clothes,  with  long  flaps  to  a  waist- 
coat embroidered  in  silks  no  longer  very  brilliant,  sat  in  a 
corner  of  the  room.  I  could  not  imagine  who  he  was,  but 
when  he  spoke  was  immediately  convinced  he  was  no 
Frenchman.  I  afterwards  heard  he  had  been  engaged  by 
M.  de  Narbonne  for  a  year,  to  teach  him  and  all  the  party 
English.  He  had  had  a  place  in  some  college  in  France 
at  the  beginning  of  th^  Eevolution,  but  was  now  driven 
out  and  destitute.  His  name  is  Clarke.  He  speaks  Eng- 
lish with  an  accent  tant  soit  peu  Scotch. 

Madame  de  la  Chatre,  with  great  franchise,  entered  into 
details  of  her  situation  and  embarrassment,  whether  she 
might  venture,  like  Madame  de    Broglie,  to  go   over  to 

1  "And  how  infinitely  he  love.s  him  !  He  has  begged  that  he  will  come 
and  live  with  him." 

vol,.  II.  19 


290  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

France,  in  which  case  she  was  dans  le  cas  ou  ellc  pouvait 
toucher  sa  fortune  ^  immediately.  She  said  she  could  then 
settle  in  England,  and  settle  comfortably.  M.  de  la  Chatre, 
it  seems,  previous  to  his  joining  the  King's  brothers,  had 
settled  upon  her  her  whole  fortune.  She  and  all  her  fam- 
ily were  great  favorers  of  the  original  Eevolution  ;  and 
even  at  this  moment  she  declares  herself  unable  to  wish 
the  restoration  of  the  old  regime,  with  its  tyranny  and  cor- 
ruptions —  persecuted  and  ruined  as  she  and  thousands 
more  have  been  by  the  unhappy  consequences  of  the  Eev- 
olution. 

M.  de  Narbonne  now  came  in.  He  seems  forty,  rather 
fat,  but  would  be  handsome  were  it  not  for  a  slight  cast  of 
one  eye.  He  was  this  morning  in  great  spirits.  Poor 
man  !  It  was  the  only  time  I  have  ever  seen  him  so.  He 
came  up  very  courteously  to  me,  and  begged  leave  de 
me  /aire  sa  cour  at  ]\Iickleham,  to  which  I  graciously 
assented. 

Then  came  M.  de  Jaucourt,  whom  I  instantly  knew  by 
Mr.  Locke's  description.  He  is  far  from  handsome,  but 
has  a  very  intelligent  countenance,  fine  teeth,  and  expres- 
sive eyes.  I  scarce  heard  a  word  from  him,  but  liked  his 
appearance  exceedingly,  and  not  the  less  for  perceiving 
his  respectful  and  affectionate  manner  of  attending  to  Mr. 
Locke  ;  but  when  Mr.  Locke  reminded  us  that  Madame  de 
la  Cliatre  had  not  breakfasted,  we  took  leave  after  spend- 
ing an  hour  in  a  manner  so  plefJBant  and  so  interesting 
that  it  scarcely  appeared  ten  minutes. 

Wednesday,  November  7th.  —  Phillips  was  at  work  in 
the  parlor,  and  I  had  just  stepped  into  the  next  room  for 
some  papers  I  wanted,  when  I  heard  a  man's  voice,  and 
presently  distinguished  these  words  :  "  Je  ne  parle  pas  trop 

^  "So  circumstanced  that  she  could  iustantly  get  possession  of  her 
fortune." 


1792.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY,  291 

bien  1' Anglais,  monsieur."^  I  came  forth  immediately  to 
relieve  Phillips,  and  then  found  it  was  M.  d'Arblay. 

I  received  him  de  hien  bon  cceicr,  as  courteously  as  I 
could.  The  adjutant  of  M.  Lafayette,  and  one  of  those 
who  proved  faithful  to  their  excellent  general,  could  not 
but  be  interesting  to  me.  I  was  extremely  pleased  at  his 
coming,  and  more  and  more  pleased  with  himself  every 
moment  that  passed.  He  seems  to  me  a  true  militaire, 
franc  et  loyal  —  open  as  the  day  —  warmly  affectionate  to 
his  friends  —  intelligent,  ready,  and  amusing  in  conversa- 
tion, with  a  great  share  of  gaiete  cle  cceur,  and  at  the  same 
time,  of  naivdi  and  honne,  foi.  He  was  no  less  flattering 
to  little  Fanny  than  M.  de  Narbonne  had  been. 

We  went  up  into  the  drawing-room  with  him,  and  met 
Willy  on  the  stairs,  and  Norbury  capered  before  us.  "  Ah, 
Madame  !  "  cried  M.  d'Arblay,  "  la  jolie  petite  maison  que 
vous  avez,  et  les  jolis  petits  botes  ! "  looking  at  the  chil- 
dren, the  drawings,  &c.,  &c.  He  took  Norbury  on  his  lap 
and  played  with  him.  I  asked  him  if  he  was  not  proud 
of  being  so  kindly  noticed  by  the  adjutant-general  of  M. 
Lafayette  ?  "  Est-ce  qu'il  salt  le  nom  de  M.  Lafayette  ? " 
said  he,  smiling.  I  said  he  was  our  hero.  "  Ah !  nous 
voil^  done  bons  amis  !  II  n'y  a  pas  de  plus  brave  homme 
sur  la  terre  ! "  "  Et  comme  on  I'a  traits  ! "  cried  I.  A 
little  shrug,  and  his  eyes  cast  up,  was  the  answer.  I  said 
I  was  thankful  to  see  at  least  one  of  his  faithful  friends 
here.  I  asked  if  M.  Lafayette  was  allowed  to  write  and 
receive  letters.  He  said  yes,  but  they  were  always  given 
to  him  open. 

Norbury  now  (still  seated  on  his  lap)  took  courage  to 
whisper  him, "  Were  you,  sir,  put  in  prison  with  M.  Lafay- 
ette?" "Oui,monami."  "And  —  was  it  quite  dark  ? "  I  was 
obliged,  laughing,  to  translate  this  curious  question.     M. 

^  "I  speak  very  little  English,  sir." 


292  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

d'Arblay  laughed  too  :  "  N"on,  raon  ami,"  said  he,  "on  nous 
a  mis  d'abord  dans  una  assez  jolie  chambre  —  c'etait  a  Ni- 
velle."  "  Vous  j  etiez  avec  M.  Lafayette,  monsieur  ? "  "  Oui, 
madame,  pour  quelques  jours,  et  puis  on  nous  a  separes." 

I  lamented  the  hard  fate  of  the  former,  and  the  rapid 
and  wonderful  revcrs  he  had  met  with  after  having  been, 
as  he  well  merited  to  be,  the  most  popular  man  in  France. 
This  led  M.  d'Arblay  to  speak  of  M.  de  Narbonne,  to 
whom  I  found  him  passionately  attached.  Upon  my  men- 
tioning the  sacrifices  made  by  the  French  nobility,  and  by 
a  great  number  of  them  voluntarily,  he  said  no  one  had 
made  more  than  M.  de  Narbonne  ;  that,  previous  to'  the 
Revolution,  he  had  more  wealth  and  more  power  than 
almost  any  except  the  princes  of  the  blood. 

For  himself,  he  mentioned  his  fortune  and  his  income 
from  his  appointments  as  something  immense,  but  I  never 
remember  the  number  of  hundred  thousand  livres,  nor  can 
tell  what  their  amount  is  without  some  consideration. 
"  Et  me  viola,  madame,  reduit  k  rien,  hormis  un  peu 
d'argent  comptant,  et  encore  tres  peu.  Je  ne  sais  encore 
ce  que  Narbonne  pourra  retirer  des  debris  de  sa  fortune  ; 
mais,  quoique  ce  soit,  nous  le  partagerons  ensemble.  Je  ne 
m'en  fais  pas  le  moindre  scrupule,  puisque  nous  n'avons 
eu  qu'un  interet  commun,  et  nous  nous  sommes  toujours 
aimes  comme  freres."  ^ 

I  wish  I  could  paint  to  you  the  msLnly  franchise  with 
which  these  words  were  spoken  ;  but  you  will  not  find  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  they  raised  MM.  de  Xarbonne  and 
d'Arblay  very  high  in  my  estimation. 

^  "And  here  I  am,  madam,"  said  he,  "reduced  to  nothing,  except  a 
little  ready  money,  and  very  little  indeed.  I  know  not  yet  what  Narbonne 
will  be  able  to  save  from  the  wreck  of  his  fortune  ;  but  be  it  what  it  may, 
we  shall  share  it  together.  I  make  not  the  least  scruple  about  it,  for  we 
have  always  had  but  one  comrnon  interest,  and  we  have  always  loved  each 
other  like  brothers." 


1792.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  293 

M.  d'Arblay  was  the  officer  on  guard  at  the  Tuileries 
the  night  on  which  the  King,  &c.,  escaped  to  A^'arennes, 
and  ran  great  risk  of  being  denounced,  and  perhaps  mas- 
sacred, though  he  had  been  kept  in  the  most  perfect  igno- 
rance of  the  King's  intention. 

Tuesday,  ISTovember  27th.  —  Phillips  and  I  determined 
at  about  half-past  one  to  walk  to  Junipere  together.  M. 
d'Arblay  received  us  at  the  door,  and  showed  the  most 
flattering  degree  of  pleasure  at  our  arrival. 

M.  de  Narbonne  said  he  hoped  we  would  be  sociable, 
and  dine  with  them  now  and  then.  Madame  de  la  Chatre 
made  a  speech  to  the  same  effect.  "  Et  quel  jour,  par  ex- 
emple,"  said  M.  de  Narbonne,  "ferait  mieux  qu'aujourd'hui  ?" 
Madame  de  la  Chatre  took  my  hand  instantly,  to  press  in 
the  most  pleasing  and  gratifying  manner  imaginable  this 
proposal ;  and,  before  I  had  time  to  answer,  M.  d'Arblay, 
snatching  up  his  hat,  declared  he  would  run  and  fetch  the 
children. 

I  was  obliged  to  entreat  Phillips  to  bring  him  back,  and 
entreated  him  to  entendre  raison. 

"  Mais,  mais,  madame,"  cried  M.  de  Narbonne,  "  ne  soyez 
pas  disgracieuse." 

"  Je  ne  suis  pas  disgracieuse,"  answered  I,  assez  naivc- 
ment,  which  occasioned  a  general  comical  but  not  affronting 
laugh :  "  sur  ce  sujet  au  moins  ; "  I  had  the  modesty  to 
add.  I  pleaded  their  late  hour  of  dinner,  our  having  no 
carriage,  and  my  disuse  to  the  night  air  at  this  time  of  the 
year ;  but  M.  de  Narbonne  said  their  cabriolet  (they  have 
no  other  carriage)  should  take  us  home,  and  that  there  was 
a  top  to  it,  and  Madame  de  la  Chatre  declared  she  woulil 
cover  me  well  with  shawls,  &c. 

"Allons,  allous,"  cried  M.  d'Arblay  ;  "voila  qui  est  fait, 
car  je  parie  que  Monsieur  Phillips  n'aura  pas  le  courage  de 
nous  refuser." 


294  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1792. 

Hffectivemcnt,  Monsieur  Phillips  was  perfectly  agreeable  ; 
so  that  all  my  efforts  were  vain,  and  I  was  obliged  to  sub- 
mit, in  despite  of  various  worldly  scruples,  to  pass  a  most 
charmingly  pleasant  day. 

M.  d'Arblay  scampered  off  for  the  little  ones,  whom  all 
insisted  upon  having,  and  Phillips  accompanied  him,  as  it 
wanted  I  believe  almost  four  hours  to  their  dinner-time. 

J'eus  beau  dire  que  ce  serait  une  visite  comme  on  n'en 
fait  jamais,  "  Ce  sera,"  said  Madame  de  la  Chatre,  "  ce 
qu'il  nous  faut ;  ce  sera  une  journee." 

Then  my  dress  :  Oh,  it  was  parfaite,  and  would  give 
them  all  the  courage  to  remain,  as  they  were,  sans  toilette : 
in  short,  nothing  was  omitted  to  render  us  comfortable  and 
at  our  ease,  and  I  have  seldom  passed  a  more  pleasant  day 
—  never,  I  may  fairly  say,  with  such  new  acquaintance. 
I  was  only  sorry  M.  de  Jaucourt  did  not  make  one  of  the 
party. 

Whilst  M.  d'Arblay  and  Phillips  were  gone,  Madame 
de  la  Chatre  told  me  they  had  that  morning  received  M. 
Necker's  Defense  du  Roi,  and  if  I  liked  it  that  M.  de  Nar- 
bonne  would  read  it  out  to  us.  You  may  conceive  my 
answer.  It  is  a  most  eloquent  production,  and  was  read 
by  M.  de  Narbonne  with  heaucoup  d'dme.  Towards  the 
end  it  is  excessively  touching,  and  his  emotion  was  very 
evident,  and  would  have  struck  and  interested  me  had  I 
felt  no  respect  for  his  character  before. 


1793.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  295 


CHAPTER   VI. 

1793—1802. 

Miss  Blimey  to  Br.  Barney. 

NoHBURY  Park,  Monday,  February  4th,  '93. 

How  exactly  do  I  sympathize  in  all  you  say  and  feel, 
my  dear  sir,  upon  these  truly  calamitous  times  !  I  hear 
daily  more  and  more  affecting  accounts  of  the  saint-Kke 
end  of  the  martyred  Louis.  Madame  de  Stael,  daughter  of 
M.  Necker,  is  now  at  the  head  of  the  colony  of  French  no- 
blesse, established  near  Mickleham.  She  is  one  of  the  first 
women  I  have  ever  met  with  for  abilities  and  extraordinary 
intellect.  She  has  just  received,  by  a  private  letter,  many 
particulars  not  yet  made  public,  and  which  the  Commune 
and  Commissaries  of  the  Temple  had  ordered  should  be 
suppressed.  It  has  been  exacted  by  those  cautious  men  of 
blood  that  nothing  should  be  printed  that  could  attcndrir 
lepeupk. 

Among  other  circumstances,  this  letter  relates  that  the 
poor  little  Dauphin  supplicated  the  monsters  who  came 
with  the  decree  of  death  to  his  unhappy  father,  that  they 
would  carry  him  to  tlie  Convention,  and  the  forty-eight 
Sections  of  Paris,  and  suffer  him  to  beg  liis  father's  life. 

This  touching  request  was  probably  suggested  to  him  by 
his  miserable  mother  or  aunt.  When  the  King  left  the 
Temple  to  go  to  the  place  of  sacrifice,  the  cries  of  his 
wretched  family  were  heard,  loud  and  shrill,  through  the 
courts  without !  —  Good  Heaven  !  what  distress  and  horror 
equalled  ever  what  they  must  then  experience  ? 


296  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1793, 

When  he  arrived  at  the  scaffold,  his  Confessor,  as  if  with 
the  courage  of  inspiration,  called  out  to  him  aloud,  after 
his  last  beuediction,  "  Fils  de  Saint  Louis,  montez  au  ciel ! " 
—  The  King  ascended  with  firmness,  and  meant  to  harangue 
his  guilty  subjects ;  but  the  wretch  Santerre  said  he  was 
not  there  to  speak,  and  the  drums  drowned  the  words, 
except  to  those  nearest  the  terrible  spot.  To  those  he 
audibly  was  heard  to  say,  "  Citoyens,  je  meurs  innocent ! 
Je  pardoune  a  mes  assassins ;  et  je  souhaite  que  ma  mort 
soit  utile  a  mon  peuple." 

M.  de  Narbonne  has  been  quite  ill  with  the  grief  of  this 
last  enormity ;  and  M.  d'Arblay  is  now  indisposed.  This 
latter  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  characters  I  have  ever 
met,  for  openness,  probity,  intellectual  knowledge,  and  un- 
hackneyed manners.  M.  de  Narbonne  is  far  more  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  joins  the  most  courtly  refinement  and 
elegance  to  the  quickest  repartee  and  readiness  of  wit. 
If  anything  but  desolation  and  misery  had  brought  them 
hither,  we  should  have  thought  their  addition  to  the  Nor- 
bury  society  all  that  could  be  wished.  They  are  bosom 
friends.  Your  F.  B. 


Madame  de  Stael  Uolstein,  to  Miss  Burney}- 
Written  from  Junipek  Hall,  Dorking,  Surrey,  1793, 
When  J  learned  to  read  english  J  begun  by  milton,  to 
know  all  or  renounce  at  all  in  once.  J  follow  the  same 
system  in  writing  my  first  english  letter  to  Miss  burney ; 
after  such  an  enterprize  nothing  can  affright  me.  J  feel 
for  her  so  tender  a  friendship  that  it  melts  my  admiration, 
inspires  my  heart  with  hope  of  her  indulgence,  and  im- 

1  As  literary  curiosities,  these  subjoined  notes  from  lladame  de  Stael 
have  been  printed  verbatim  et  literatim :  they  are  probably  her  earliest 
attempts  at  English  writing. 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  297 

presses  me  with  the  idea  that  in  a  tongue  even  unknown  J 
could  express  sentiments  so  deeply  felt. 

my  servant  will  return  for  a  french  answer.  J  intreat 
miss  burney  to  correct  the  words  but  to  preserve  the  sense 
of  that  card. 

best  compliments  to  my  dear  protectress,  Madame 
Phillipe. 


Madame  de  Stael  Holsiein  to  Miss  Burnei/. 

Your  card  in  french,  my  dear,  has  already  something  of 
your  grace  in  writing  english  :  it  is  cecilia  translated,  my 
only  correction  is  to  till  the  interruptions  of  some  sen- 
tences, and  J  put  in  them  kindnesses  for  me.  J  do  not 
consult  my  master  to  write  to  you  ;  a  fault  more  or  less  is 
nothing  in  such  an  occasion.  What  may  be  the  perfect 
grammar  of  Mr.  Clarke,  it  cannot  establish  any  sort  of 
equality  between  you  and  J.  then  J  will  trust  with  my 
heart  alone  to  supply  the  deficiency,  let  us  speak  upon  a 
grave  subject :  do  J  see  you  that  morning  ?  What  news 
from  Captain  phiUip  ?  when  do  you  come  spend  a  large 
week  in  that  house  ?  every  question  requires  an  exact 
answer ;  a  good,  also,  my  happiness  depends  on  it,  and  J 
have  for  pledge  your  honor. 

good  morrow  and  farewell. 

pray  madame  phillips,  recollecting  all  her  knowledge  in 
french,  to  explain  that  card  to  you. 


Madame  de  Stael  Holstein  to  Miss  Burnei/. 

January,  1793. 
Tell  me,  my  dear,  if  this  day  is  a  charming  one,  if  it 
must  be  a  sweet  epoch  in  my  life  ?  —  do  you  come  to  dine 
here  with  your  lovely  sister,  and  do  you  stay  night  and  day 


298  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

till  our  sad  separation  ?  J  rejoice  me  with  that  hope  dur- 
ing this  week ;  do  not  deceive  my  heart. 

J  hope  that  card  very  clear,  mais,  pour  plus  de  certitude, 
je  vous  dis  en  fran9ois,  que  votre  chambre,  la  maison,  les 
habitants  de  Juniper,  tout  est  pret  a  recevoir  la  premiere 
femme  d'Angleterre. 

Janvier. 


Miss  Burney  to  Dr.  Burney. 

MiCKLEHAM,  February  29th,  1793. 

Have  you  not  begun,  dearest  sir,  to  give  me  up  as  a  lost 
sheep  ?  Susanna's  temporary  widowhood,  however,  has 
tempted  me  on,  and  spelled  me  with  a  spell  I  know  not 
how  to  break.  It  is  long,  long  since  we  have  passed  any 
time  so  completely  together ;  her  three  lovely  children  only 
knit  us  the  closer.  The  widowhood,  however,  we  expect 
now  quickly  to  expire,  and  I  had  projected  my  return  to 
my  dearest  father  for  Wednesday  next,  which  would  com- 
plete my  fortnight  here ;  but  some  circumstances  are  inter- 
vening that  incline  me  to  postpone  it  another  week. 

Madame  de  Stael,  daughter  of  M,  Necker,  and  wife  of 
the  Swedish  Ambassador  to  France,  is  now  head  of  the 
little  French  colony  in  this  neighborhood.  M.  de  Stael,  her 
husband,  is  at  present  suspended  in  his  embassy,  but  not 
recalled  ;  and  it  is  yet  uncertain  whether  the  Eegent  Duke 
of  Sudermania  will  send  him  to  Paris,  during  the  present 
horrible  Convention,  or  order  him  home.  He  is  now  in 
Holland,  waiting  for  commands.  Madame  de  Stael,  how- 
ever, was  unsafe  in  Paris,  though  an  ambassadress,  from 
the  resentment  owed  her  by  the  Commune,  for  having 
received  and  protected  in  her  house  various  destined  vic- 
tims of  the  10th  August  and  of  the  2nd  September.  She 
was  even  once  stopped  in  her  carriage,  which  they  called 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  299 

aristocratic,  because  of  its  arms  and  ornaments,  and  threat- 
ened to  be  murdered,  and  only  saved  by  one  of  the  worst 
wretches  of  the  Convention,  Tallien,  who  feared  provoking 
a  war  with  Sweden,  from  such  an  offence  to  the  wife  of 
its  Ambassador.  She  was  obliged  to  have  this  same  Tallien 
to  accompany  her,  to  save  her  from  massacre,  for  some 
miles  from  Paris,  when  compelled  to  quit  it. 

She  is  a  woman  of  the  first  abilities,  I  think,  I  have 
ever  seen ;  she  is  more  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  Thrale  than  of 
any  other  celebrated  character,  but  she  has  infinitely  more 
depth,  and  seems  an  even  profound  politician  and  meta- 
physician. She  has  suffered  us  to  hear  some  of  her  works 
in  MS.,  which  are  truly  wonderful,  for  powers  both  of 
thinking  and  expression.  She  adores  her  father,  but  is 
much  alarmed  at  having  had  no  news  from  him  since  he 
has  heard  of  the  niassacre  of  the  martyred  Louis  ;  and  who 
can  wonder  it  should  have  overpowered  him  ? 

Ever  since  her  arrival  she  has  been  pressing  me  to  spend 
some  time  with  her  before  I  return  to  town.  She  wanted 
Susan  and  me  to  pass  a  month  with  her,  but,  finding  that 
impossible,  slie  bestowed  all  her  entreaties  upon  me  alone, 
and  they  are  grown  so  urgent,  upon  my  preparation  for 
departing,  and  acquainting  her  my  furlough  of  absence  was 
over,  that  she  not  only  insisted  upon  my  writing  to  you, 
and  telling  why  I  deferred  my  return,  but  declares  she 
will  also  write  herself,  to  ask  your  permission  for  the  visit. 
She  exactly  resembles  Mrs.  Thrale  in  the  ardor  and  warmth 
of  her  temper  and  partialities.  I  find  her  impossible  to 
resist,  and  therefore,  if  your  answer  to  her  is  such  as  I  con- 
clude it  must  be,  I  shall  wait  upon  her  for  a  week.  She 
is  only  a  short  walk  from  hence,  at  Juniper  Hall. 

There  can  be  nothing  imagined  more  charming,  more 
fascinating,  than  this  colony ;  between  their  sufferings  and 
their  agr^mens  they  occupy  us  almost  wholly.     M.  de  Nar- 


300  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

"bonue.alas,  has  no  £1,000  a-year  !  he  got  over  only  £4,000 
at  the  beginning,  from  a  most  splendid  fortune  :  and,  little 
foreseeing  how  all  has  turned  out,  he  has  lived,  we  fear, 
upon  the  principal ;  for  he  says,  if  all  remittance  is  with- 
drawn, on  account  of  the  war,  he  shall  soon  be  as  ruined  as 
those  companions  of  his  misfortunes  with  whom  as  yet  he 
has  shared  his  little  all.  He  bears  the  highest  character 
for  goodness,  parts,  sweetness  of  manners,  and  ready  wit. 
You  could  not  keep  your  heart  from  him  if  you  saw  him 
only  for  half  an  hour.  He  has  not  yet  recovered  from  the 
black  blow  of  the  King's  death,  but  he  is  better,  and  less 
jaundiced ;  and  he  has  had  a  letter  which,  I  hear,  has  com- 
forted him,  though  at  first  it  was  almost  heart-breaking, 
informing  him  of  the  unabated  regard  for  him  of  the  truly 
saint-like  Louis.  This  is  communicated  in  a  letter  from 
M.  de  Malesherbes. 

M.  d'Arblay  is  one  of  the  most  singularly  interesting 
characters  that  can  ever  have  been  formed.  He  has  a 
sincerity,  a  frankness,  an  ingenuous  openness  of  nature, 
that  I  had  been  unjust  enough  to  think  could  not  belong 
to  a  Frenchman.  With  all  this,  which  is  his  military  por- 
tion, he  is  passionately  fond  of  literature,  a  most  delicate 
critic  in  his  own  language,  well  versed  in  both  Italian  and 
German,  and  a  very  elegant  poet.  He  has  just  undertaken 
to  become  my  French  master  for  pronunciation,  and  he 
gives  me  long  daily  lessons  in  reading.  Pray  expect 
wonderful  improvements  !  In  return,  I  hear  him  in  Eng- 
lish ;  and  for  his  theme  this  evening  he  has  been  writing 
an  English  address  a  Mr.  Burney  {i.  e.  M.  le  Docteur), 
joining  in  Madame  de  Stael's  request. 

I  hope  your  last  club  was  more  congenial  ?  M.  de  Tal- 
leyrand insists  on  conveying  this  letter  for  you.  He  has 
been  on  a  visit  here,  and  returns  again  on  Wednesday.  He 
is  a  man  of  admirable  conversation,  quick,  terse,  fin,  and 


17b8.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY,  301 

yet  deep,  to  the  extreme  of  those  four  words.     They  are  a 
marvellous  set  for  excess  of  agreeability. 

Adieu,  most  dear  sir.  Susanna  sends  her  best  love,  and 
the  Fanni  and  Norbury  kisses  and  sweet  words.  I  beg 
my  love  to  my  mother,  and  hope  she  continues  amending. 
I  am  ever,  ever,  and  ever,  my  dearest  father's  F.  B. 


Miss  Buniey  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

MiCKLEHAM. 

Your  kind  letter,  my  beloved  Fredy,  was  most  thank- 
fully received,  and  we  rejoice  the  house  and  situation 
promise  so  much  local  comfort ;  but  I  quite  fear  with  you 
that  even  the  has  bleu  will  not  recompense  the  loss  of  the 
Junipere  society.  It  is,  indeed,  of  incontestible  superiority. 
But  you  must  burn  this  confession,  or  my  poor  effigy  will 
blaze  for  it.  I  must  tell  you  a  little  of  our  proceedings, 
as  they  all  relate  to  these  people  of  a  thousand. 

M.  d'Arblay  came  from  the  melancholy  sight  of  depart- 
ing Norbury  to  Mickleham,  and  with  an  air  the  most  triste, 
and  a  sound  of  voice  quite  dejected,  as  I  learn  from  Su- 
sanna ;  for  I  was  in  my  heroics,  and  could  not  appear  till 
the  last  half-hour.  A  headache  prevented  my  waiting 
upon  Madame  de  Stael  that  day,  and  obliged  me  to  retreat 
soon  after  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  my  douce  com- 
jpagne  would  not  let  me  retreat  alone.  We  had  only  robed 
ourselves  in  looser  drapery,  when  a  violent  ringing  at  the 
door  startled  us ;  we  listened,  and  heard  the  voice  of  M. 
d'Arblay,  and  Jerry  answering,  "  They  're  gone  to  bed." 
"  Comments  What  ? "  cried  he :  "  C'est  impossible  !  Yhat 
you  say  ? "  Jerry  then,  to  show  his  new  education  in  this 
new  colony,  said,  "  All^e  couchee  ! "  It  rained  furiously, 
and  we  were  quite  grieved,  but  there  was  no  help.  He 
left  a  book  for  Mile.  Burnet,  and  word  that  Madame  de 


302  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

Stael  could  not  come  on  account  of  the  bad  weather.  M. 
Ferdinand  was  with  him,  and  has  bewailed  the  disaster ; 
and  M.  Sicard  says  he  accompanied  them  till  he  was  quite 
wet  though  his  redingote  ;  but  this  enchanting  M.  D'Arblay 
will  murmur  at  nothing. 

The  next  day  they  all  came,  just  as  we  had  dined,  for 
a  morning  visit,  —  Madame  de  Stael,  M.  Talle}Tand,  M. 
Sicard,  and  M.  D'Arblay ;  the  latter  then  made  insistance 
upon  commencing  my  master  of  the  language,  and  I  think 
he  wall  be  almost  as  good  a  one  as  the  little  Don.^ 

M.  de  Talleyrand  opened,  at  last,  with  infinite  wit  and 
capacity.  Madame  de  Stael  whispered  me,  "  How  do  you 
like  him  ?  "  "  Not  very  much,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  do  not 
know  him."  "  Oh,  I  assure  you,"  cried  she,  "  he  is  the 
best  of  the  men." 

I  was  happy  not  to  agree ;  but  I  have  no  time  for  such 
minute  detail  till  we  meet.  She  read  the  noble  tragedy  of 
Tancrede  till  she  blinded  us  all  round.  She  is  the  most 
charming  person,  to  use  her  own  phrase,  "  that  never  I 
saw." 

We  called  yesterday  noon  upon  Madame  de  Stael,  and 
sat  with  her  till  three  o'clock,  only  the  little  Don  being 
present.  She  was  delightful ;  yet  I  see  much  uneasiness 
hanging  over  the  whole  party,  from  the  terror  that  the  war 
may  stop  all  remittances.     Heaven  forbid  !  F.  B. 


Madame  de  Stael  to  Miss  Burney. 

Juniper,  ce  8  Mars. 
My  dear  Miss,  —  Pour  cette  fois  vous  me  permettrez 
de  vous  ^crire  en  Francois ;  il  s'agit  de  m'arranger  pour 
vous  voir,  et  je  ne  veux  pas  risquer  d'^quivoques  dans  cat 

1  Mr.  Clarke. 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  303 

important  interet.  Mardi  entre  midi  et  ime  heure  je  serai 
k  Chelsea  College,  avec  votre  niaitre  de  Francois  et  Mr. 
Clarke  :  tous  les  deux  causeront  ensemble,  et  vous  —  vous 
me  parlerez.  Je  sais  q^ue  vous  etes  pleine  de  bont^  pour 
moi,  et  que  vous  mettez  meme  du  courage  contre  la  reac- 
tion de  quelques  mechancetes  Francoises  auxquelles  les 
tems  de  guerre  civile  doivent  accoutumer  ;  mais  tout  ce  que 
je  vous  deraande  c'est  m'ainier,  dussiez-vous  attendre  a 
d'autres  tems  pour  le  dire  ?  II  faut  laisser  I'injustice  aux 
hommes  malheureux ;  il  faut  qu'ils  s'occupent  des  per- 
sonnes  quand  ils  ne  peuvent  rien  sur  les  affaires  ;  il  faut 
qu'ils  donneut  quelques  unes  de  leurs  preventions  aux 
Strangers,  qui  n'ont  pas  le  tems  de  juger  les  proems  des 
individus  ;  il  faut  tout  ce  qui  est  ordinaire  et  extraordi- 
naire dans  une  pareille  ^poque,  et  se  confier  au  tems  pour 
I'opinion  publique  —  a  I'amitie  pour  le  bonheur  particulier. 
lis  vous  diront  que  je  suis  democrate,  et  ils  oublieront  que 
mes  amis  et  moi  nous  avons  echapp6  au  fer  des  Jacobins  : 
ils  vous  diront  que  j'aime  passionnement  les  affaires,  et  je 
suis  ici  quand  M.  de  Stael  me  presse  d'aller  a  Paris,  me 
meler  avec  lui  des  plus  importantes  (ceci  pour  vous  seule) : 
enfin  ils  chercheront  a  troubler  jusqu'au  repos  de  I'amitie, 
et  ne  permettront  pas  que,  fidele  a  mes  devoirs,  j'aie  eu  le 
besoin  de  partager  pendant  deux  mois  le  malheur  de  celui 
dont  j'avois  sauv^  la  vie.  II  y  a  dans  tout  cela  tant 
d'absurdes  fausset^s,  qu'un  jour  ou  I'autre  je  c^derai  au 
desir  d'en  parler.  Mais  qui  peut  maintenant  se  permettre 
d'occuper  de  soi  ?  II  n'y  a  pas  d'idees  generales  assez 
vastes  pour  ce  moment.  Je  suis  bien  mal  ce  precepte  en 
vous  ecrivant ;  mais,  parceque  je  vous  ai  trouve  la  meilleure 
et  la  plus  distinguee  ;  parcequ'avant  de  vous  connoitre, 
j'ambitionnois  de  vous  plaire  ;  parceque,  depuis  que  je  vous 
ai  vu,  il  m'est  necessaire  de  vous  interesser,  je  me  persuade 
que  vous  devez  m'aimer ;  je  crois  bien   aussi  que  votre 


304  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

bont^  pour  moi  m'a  valii  quelques  envieux  ;  ainsi  il  y  a  un 
pen  de  justice  dans  ce  que  vous  faites  pour  moi.  Je  chasse 
toutes  mes  idees  tristes  en  songeant  que  je  vous  verrai 
Mardi,  et  les  jours  suivans,  chez  Madame  Locke  —  en  pen- 
sant  a  votre  aimable  soeur  Madame  Phillips,  qui,  sentant 
le  besoin  que  j'avois  d'etre  consolee,  a  ^te  doublement 
aimable  pour  moi  apres  votre  depart.  Eepondez  a  ma 
lettre.     Adieu ! 


Mrs.  Phillips  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

MiCKLEHAM,  April  2nd,  1793. 

I  MUST,  however,  say  something  of  Juniper,  whence  T 
had  an  irresistible  invitation  to  dine,  &c.,  yesterday,  and 
hear  M.  de  Lally  Tolendal  read  his  "  Mort  de  Strafford," 
which  he  had  already  recited  once,  and  Avhich  Madame 
de  Stael  requested  him  to  repeat  for  my  sake. 

I  had  a  great  curiosity  to  see  M.  de  Lally.  I  cannot 
say  that  feeling  was  gratified  by  the  sight  of  him,  though 
it  was  satisfied,  insomuch  that  it  has  left  me  without  any 
great  anxiety  to  see  him  again.  He  is  the  very  reverse 
of  all  that  my  imagination  had  led  me  to  expect  in  liim  : 
large,  fat,  with  a  great  head,  small  nose,  immense  cheeks, 
notliing  distingue  in  his  manner;  and  en  fait  d' esprit,  and 
of  talents  in  conversation,  so  far,  so  very  far,  distant  from 
our  Juniperiens,  and  from  M.  de  Talleyrand,  who  was  there, 
as  I  could  not  have  conceived,  his  abilities  as  a  writer  and 
his  general  reputation  considered.  He  seems  tm  hon  gar- 
gon,  U7i  tres  honnete  gargon,  as  M.  Talleyrand  says  of  him, 
et  rien  de  plus. 

He  is  extremely  absorbed  by  his  tragedy,  wliich  lie  re- 
cites by  heart,  acting  as  well  as  declaiming  with  great 
energy,  though  seated,  as  Le  Texier  is.  He  seemed,  pre- 
vious to  the  performance,  occupied  completely  by  it,  except 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  305 

while  the  dinner  lasted,  whicli  he  did  not  neglect ;  but 
he  was  continually  reciting  to  himself  till  we  sat  down 
to  table,  and  afterwards  between  the  courses. 

M.  Talleyrand  seemed  much  struck  with  his  piece,  which 
appears  to  me  to  have  very  fine  lines  and  passages  in  it, 
but  which,  altogether,  interested  me  but  little.  I  confess, 
indeed,  the  violence  of  ses  gcstes,  and  the  alternate  howling 
and  thundering  of  his  voice  in  declaiming,  fatigued  me 
excessively.  If  our  Fanny  had  been  present,  I  am  afraid 
I  should  many  times  have  been  affected  as  one  does  not 
expect  to  be  at  a  tragedy. 

We  sat  down  at  seven  to  dinner,  and  had  half  finished 
before  M.  d'Arblay  appeared,  though  repeatedly  sent  for ; 
he  was  profoundly  grave  and  silent,  and  disappeared  after 
the  dinner,  which  was  very  gay.  He  was  sent  for  after 
coffee  and  Norbury  were  gone,  several  times,  that  the 
tragedy  might  be  begun  ;  and  at  last  Madame  de  S.  im- 
patiently proposed  beginning  without  him.  "Mais  cela 
lui  fera  de  la  peine,"  said  M.  D'Autun  (Talleyrand),  good- 
naturedly  ;  and,  as  she  persisted,  he  rose  up  and  limped 
out  of  the  room  to  fetch  him  :  he  succeeded  in  bringing 
him, 

M.  Malouet  has  left  them.  La  Princesse  d'Henin  is  a 
very  pleasing,  well-bred  woman  :  slie  left  Juniper  the  next 
morning  with  M.  de  Lally. 

S.  P. 


Mrs.  Phillips  to  Miss  Burney. 

Tuesday,  May  14th. 
Teusting  to  the  kindness  of  chance,  I  begin  at  the  top 
of  my  paper.     Our  Juniperians  went  to  see  Paine's  Hill 
yesterday,  and  had  the  good-nature  to  take  my  little  happy 

Norbury.     In  the  evening  came  Miss  F to  show  me  a 

VOL.  II.  20 


306  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

circular  letter,  sent  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to 
all  the  parishes  in  England,  authorizing  the  ministers  of 
those  parishes  to  raise  a  subscription  for  the  unfortunate 
French  clergy.  She  talked  of  our  neighbors,  and  very 
shortly  and  abruptly  said,  "  So,  Mrs.  Phillips,  we  hear  you 
are  to  have  Mr.  Norbone  and  the  other  French  company 
to  live  with  you  —  Pray,  is  it  so  ?  " 

I  was,  I  confess,  a  little  startled  at  this  plain  inquiry, 
but  answered  as  composedly  as  I  could,  setting  out  with 
informing  this  hetc  persowiage  that  Madame  de  Stael  was 
going  to  Switzerland  to  join  her  husband  and  family  in  a 
few  days,  and  that  of  all  the  French  company  none  would 
remain  but  M.  de  Narbonne  and  M.  d'Arblay,  for  whom 
the  Captain  and  myself  entertained  a  real  friendship  and 
esteem,  and  whom  he  had  begged  to  make  our  house  their 
own  for  a  short  time,  as  the  impositions  they  had  had  to 
support  from  their  servants,  &c.,  and  the  failure  of  their 
remittances  from  abroad,  had  obliged  them  to  resolve  on 
breaking  up  housekeeping. 

I  had  scarcely  said  thus  much  when  our  party  arrived 
from  Paine's  Hill :  the  young  lady,  though  she  had  drunk 
tea,  was  so  obliging  as  to  give  us  her  company  for  near  two 
hours,  and  made  a  curious  attack  on  M.  de  N.,  upon  the 
first  pause,  in  wretched  French,  though  we  had  before,  all 
of  us,  talked  no  other  language  than  English  :  —  "  Je  vous 
prie,  M.  Gnawbone,  comment  se  porte  la  Peine  ? " 

Her  pronunciation  was  such  that  I  thought  his  under- 
standing her  miraculous  :  however,  he  did  guess  her  mean- 
ing, and  answered  with  all  his  accustomed  douceur  and 
politeness,  that  he  hoped  well,  but  had  no  means  but  gen- 
eral ones  of  information. 

"  I  believe,"  said  she  afterwards,  "  nobody  was  so  hurt 
at  the  King's  death  as  my  papa  !  he  could  n't  ride  on  horse- 
back next  day !  " 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  307 

She  then  told  M.  de  Narbonne  some  anecdotes  (very  new 
to  him  no  doubt),  which  she  had  read  in  the  newspapers, 
of  the  Convention ;  and  then  spoke  of  M.  Egalit^.  "  I  hope," 
said  she,  flinging  lier  arms  out  with  great  violence,  "  he  '11 
come  to  be  gullytined.  He  showed  the  King  how  he  liked 
to  be  gullytined,  so  now  I  hope  he  '11  be  gullytined  himself  ! 
—  So  shocking  !  to  give  his  vote  against  his  own  nephew  ! " 

If  the  subject  of  her  vehemence  and  blunders  had  been 
less  just  or  less  melancholy,  I  know  not  how  I  should  have 
kept  my  face  in  order. 

Our  evening  was  very  pleasant  when  she  was  gone. 
Madame  de  Stael  is,  with  all  her  wildness  and  blemishes, 
a  delightful  companion,  and  M.  de  N.  rises  upon  me  in 
esteem  and  affection  every  time  I  see  him ;  their  minds  in 
some  points  ought  to  be  exchanged,  for  he  is  as  delicate  as 
a  really  feminine  woman,  and  evidently  suffers  when  he 
sees  her  setting  les  biens^ances  aside,  as  it  often  enough  be- 
falls her  to  do. 

Poor  Madame  de  Stael  has  been  greatly  disappointed 
and  hurt  by  the  failure  of  the  friendship  and  intercourse 
she'had  wished  to  maintain  with  you,  —  of  that  I  am  sure  ; 
I  fear,  too,  she  is  on  the  point  of  being  offended.  I  am 
not  likely  to  be  her  confidante  if  she  is  so,  and  only  judge 
from  the  nature  of  things,  and  from  her  character,  and  a 
kind  of  dejnt  in  her  manner  once  or  twice  in  speaking  of 
you.  She  asked  me  if  you  would  accompany  Mrs.  Locke 
back  into  the  country  ?  I  answered  that  my  father  would 
not  wish  to  lose  you  for  so  long  a  time  at  once,  as  you  had 
been  absent  from  him  as  a  nurse  so  many  days. 

After  a  little  pause,  "  Mais  est-ce  qu'une  femme  est  en 
tutelle  pour  la  vie  dans  ce  pays  ?  "  she  said.  "  II  me  parait 
que  votre  sceur  est  comme  uue  demoiselle  de  quatorze  ans." 

I  did  not  oppose  this  idea,  but  enlarged  rather  on  the 
constraints  laid  upon  females,  some  very  unnecessarily,  in 


308  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

England  —  hoping  to  lessen  her  d^pit ;  it  continued,  how- 
ever, visible  in  her  countenance,  though  she  did  not  ex- 
press it  in  words. 


Madame  de  Stael  to  Miss  Burney. 

Juniper,  11th  May. 
Je  vois  bien,  my  dear  Miss,  que  vous  voulez  vous  acquit- 
ter  ^  force  de  services :  mais  si  vous  vous  etiez  permis  de 
lire  Voltaire,  je  vous  dirais  ces  deux  vers  un  peu  changes  : — 

Un  sentiment  est  cent  fois  au-dessus 
Et  de  I'esprit  et  de  la  bonte  nieme. 

Oublions  et  le  bonheur  et  le  malheur  de  notre  liaison  en- 
semble, pour  retourner  au  doux  penchant  de  la  reconnais- 
sance. Les  dentelles  de  mon  emigree  peuvent  etre  ven- 
dues en  detail,  parceque  c'est  le  seul  moyen  de  les  vendre. 
Quant  au  prix,  c'est  un  marchand  de  dentelles  a  votre 
choix  qui  doit  le  fixer.  Une  fille  de  chez  Madame  Roger, 
Duke  Street,  Piccadilly,  a  estim(^  le  tout  £100  sterling. 
Mais  je  ne  sais  pas  un  mot  de  details,  et  la  premiere  mar- 
chande  de  dentelles  que  vous  rencontrerez  vous  le  dira. 

Quant  a  tlie  ogly,  tall,  and  good  servant,  je  demande 
quatre  jours  pour  repondre  a  cette  grande  aflaire :  je  de- 
mande aussi  si  elle  salt  ecrire  ce  qu'il  faut  pour  le  hill 
d'un  dejeuner,  de  sucre,  de  th(5,  &c. 

Maintenant  que  je  vous  ai  bien  fatigu^  de  tous  les  ser- 
vices que  je  veux  rendre  a  mes  amis,  et  que  votre  excel- 
lent caractere  vous  fait  dt^sirer  de  partager,  laissez  moi 
vous  dire  que  je  suis  triste  de  partir  peut-etre  sans  vous 
revoir  ;  et  qu'en  ecartant  tous  les  nuages  de  mon  cceur  je 
serai  toujours  intcressee  dans  vos  succ^s,  et  dans  votre 
bonheur. 

Soyez  assez  bonne  pour  exprimer,  avec  raccent  de  Ct^ci- 


1793.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  309 

lia,  tout  le  regret  que  je  sens  d'avoir  6t6  bannie  de  la 
chambre  de  nos  aimables  malades,  que  ma  pensee  n'a  pas 
quitt(^es. 

[The  frequency  and  intimacy  M'itli  wliicli  Miss  Barney 
and  M.  d'Arblay  now  met,  ripened  into  attachment  the 
high  esteem  which  each  felt  for  the  other ;  and,  after  many 
struggles  and  scruples,  occasioned  by  his  reduced  circum- 
stances and  clouded  prospects,  M.  d'Arblay  wrote  her  an 
offer  of  his  hand ;  candidly  acknowledging,  however,  the 
slight  hope  he  entertained  of  ever  recovering  the  fortune 
he  had  lost  by  the  Revolution. 

At  this  time  Miss  Burney  went  to  Chesington  for  a 
short  period ;  probably  hoping  that  the  extreme  quiet  of 
that  place  would  assist  her  deliberations,  and  tranquillize 
her  mind  during  her  present  perplexities.] 


3Irs.  Phillips  to  Miss  Burney  at  Chesington. 

Sunday,  after  church,  I  walked  up  to  Norbury ;  there, 
unexpectedly,  I  met  all  our  Juniperians,  and  listened  to 
one  of  the  best  conversations  I  ever  heard :  it  was  on 
literary  topics,  and  the  chief  speakers,  Madame  de  Stael, 
M.  de  Talleyrand,  Mr.  Locke,  and  M.  Dumont,  a  gentleman 
on  a  visit  of  two  days  at  Juniper,  a  Genevois,  homme 
d'esprit  et  de  lettres.  I  had  not  a  word  beyond  the  first 
"  how  d'  yes  "  with  any  one,  being  obliged  to  run  home  to 
my  abominable  dinner  in  the  midst  of  the  discourse. 

On  Monday  I  went,  by  invitation,  to  Juniper  to  dine, 
and  before  I  came  away  at  night  a  letter  arrived  express 
to  Madame  de  Stael.  On  reading  it,  the  change  in  her 
countenance  made  me  guess  the  contents.  It  was  from  the 
Swedish  gentleman  who  had  been  appointed  by  her  hus- 


310  DIARY'  AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

band  to  meet  her  at  Ostend ;  he  wrote  from  that  place  that 
he  was  awaiting  her  arrival.  She  had  designed  walking 
home  with  us  by  moonlight,  but  her  spirits  were  too  much 
oppressed  to  enable  her  to  keep  this  intention. 

M.  d'Arblay  walked  home  with  Phillips  and  me.  Every 
moment  of  his  time  has  been  given  of  late  to  transcribins 
a  MS.  work  of  Madame  de  Stael,  on  "  L'Influence  des  Pas- 
sions." It  is  a  work  of  considerable  length,  and  written  in 
a  hand  the  most  difficult  possible  to  decipher. 

On  Tuesday  we  all  met  again  at  Norbury,  where  we 
spent  the  day.  Madame  de  Stael  could  not  rally  her  spirits 
at  all,  and  seemed  like  one  torn  from  all  that  was  dear  to 
her.     I  was  truly  concerned. 

After  giving  me  a  variety  of  charges,  or  rather  en- 
treaties, to  watch  and  attend  to  the  health,  spirits,  and 
affairs  of  the  friends  she  was  leaving,  she  said  to  me,  "  Et 
dites  a  Mile.  Burney  que  je  ne  lui  en  veux  pas  du  tout  — 
que  je  quitte  le  pays  I'aiment  bien  sinc^rement,  et  sans 
rancune." 

I  assured  her  earnestly,  and  with  more  words  than  I 
have  room  to  insert,  not  only  of  your  admiration,  but  affec- 
tion, and  sensibility  of  her  worth,  and  chagrin  at  seeing  no 
more  of  her.  I  hope  I  exceeded  not  your  wishes ;  mais  il 
ny  avait  pas  moyen  de  r^sister.  She  seemed  pleased,  and 
said,  "Vous  ^tes  bien  bonne  de  me  dire  cela,"  but  in  a  low 
and  faint  voice,  and  dropped  the  subject. 

Before  we  took  leave  M.  d'Arblay  was  already  gone, 
meaning  to  finish  transcribing  her  MS.  I  came  home  with 
Madame  de  Stael  and  M.  de  Narbonne.  The  former  ac- 
tually sobbed  in  saying  farewell  to  Mrs.  Locke,  and  half 
way  down  the  hill ;  her  parting  from  me  was  likewise  very 
tender  and  flattering. 

I  determined,  however,  to  see  her  again,  and  met  her 
near  the  school,  on  Wednesday  morning,  with  a  short  note 


1798.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  311 

and  a  little  offering  which  I  was  irresistibly  tempted  to 
make  her.  She  could  not  speak  to  me,  but  kissed  her 
hand  with  a  very  speaking  and  touching  expression  of 
countenance. 

It  was  this  morning,  and  just  as  I  was  setting  out  to 
meet  her,  that  Skilton  arrived  from  Chesington.  I  wrote 
a  little,  walked  out,  and  returned  to  finish  as  I  could. 

At  dinner  came  our  Tyo  ^  —  very  bad  indeed.  After  it 
we  walked  together  with  the  children  to  Norbury ;  but 
little  Fanny  was  so  well  pleased  with  his  society,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  get  a  word  on  any  particular  subject. 
I,  however,  upon  his  venturing  to  question  me  whereabouts 
was  the  campagne  ou  se  trouvait  Mdlle.  Burnet,  ventured  de 
mon  c6t6  to  speak  the  name  of  Chesington,  and  give  a  little 
account  of  its  inhabitants,  the  early  love  we  had  for  the 
spot,  our  excellent  Mr.  Crisp,  and  your  good  and  kind 
hostesses.  He  listened  with  much  interest  and  pleasure, 
and  said, "  Mais  ne  pourrait-on  pas  faire  ce  petit  voyage-la  ? " 

I  ventured  to  say  nothing  encouraging,  at  least  de- 
cisively, in  a  great  measure  upon  the  children's  account, 
lest  they  should  repeat ;  and,  moreover,  your  little  name- 
sake seemed  to  me  surprisingly  attentive  and  eveilUe,  as  if 
elle  se  doutait  de  quelque  chose. 

When  we  came  home  I  gave  our  Tyo  some  paper  to 
write  to  you  ;  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  add  more  than 
the  address,  much  as  I  wished  it. 

1  An  Otaheitian  term  signifying  sworn  brotherhood.  The  ceremony 
which  binds  this  relation  consists  in  rubbing  noses  together  and  exchanging 
the  appellation  of  "  Tyo,"  or  "  Taio,"  which  means  "  chosen  friend."  The 
title  was  sometimes  playfully  given  to  Miss  Bumey  by  Mrs.  Thrale,  and 
the  sisters  occasionally  employed  it. 


312  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

Miss  Burney  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Chesington,  1793. 

I  have  been  quite  enchanted  to-day  by  my  dear  Susan's 
intelligence  that  my  three  convalescents  walked  to  the 
wood.     Would  I  had  been  there  to  meet  and  receive  them  ! 

I  have  regretted  excessively  the  finishing  so  miserably 
an  acquaintance  begun  with  so  much  spirit  and  pleasure, 
and  the  d^ipit  I  fear  Madame  de  Stael  must  have  experi- 
enced. I  wish  the  world  would  take  more  care  of  itself, 
and  less  of  its  neighbors.  I  should  have  been  very  safe,  I 
trust,  without  such  flights,  and  distances,  and  breaches. 
But  there  seemed  an  absolute  resolution  formed  to  crush 
this  acquaintance,  and  compel  me  to  appear  its  wilful  re- 
nouncer.  All  I  did  also  to  clear  the  matter,  and  soften  to 
Madame  de  Stael  any  pique  or  displeasure,  unfortunately 
served  only  to  increase  both.  Had  I  understood  her  dis- 
position better  I  should  certainly  have  attempted  no 
palliation,  for  I  rather  offended  her  pride  than  mollified 
her  wrath.  Yet  I  followed  the  golden  rule,  for  how  much 
should  I  prefer  any  acknowledgment  of  regret  at  sucli  an 
apparent  change,  from  any  one  I  esteemed,  to  a  seeming 
unconscious  complacency  in  an  unexplained  caprice  ! 

I  am  vexed,  however,  very  much  vexed,  at  the  whole 
business.  I  hope  she  left  Norbury  Park  with  full  satisfac- 
tion in  its  steady  and  more  comfortable  connection.  I  fear 
mine  will  pass  for  only  a  fashionable  one. 

Miss  Kitty  Cooke  still  amuses  me  very  much  by  her  in- 
comparable dialect ;  and  by  her  kindness  and  friendliness 
I  am  taken  the  best  care  of  imaginable. 

My  poor  brother,  who  will  carry  this  to  Mickleham,  is 
crrievously  altered  by  the  loss  of  his  little  girl.  It  has 
affected  his  spirits  and  his  health,  and  he  is  grown  so  thin 
and  meagre,  that  he  looks  ten  years  older  than  when  I  saw 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAT.  313 

him  last.  I  hope  he  will  now  revive,  since  the  blow  is 
over;  but  it  has  been  a  very,  very  hard  one,  after  such 
earnest  pains  to  escape  it. 

Did  the  wood  look  very  beautiful  ?  I  have  figured  it  to 
myself,  with  the  three  dear  convalescents  wandering  in  its 
winding  paths,  and  inhaling  its  freshness  and  salubrity,  ever 
since  I  heard  of  this  walk.  I  wanted  prodigiously  to  have 
issued  forth  from  some  little  green  recess,  to  have  hailed 
your  return.  I  hope  Mr.  Locke  had  tlie  pleasure  of  this 
sight.     Is  Jenny  capable  of  such  a  mounting  journey  ? 

Do  you  know  anything  of  a  certain  young  lady,  who 
eludes  all  my  inquiries,  famous  for  having  eight  sisters,  all 
of  uncommon  talents  ?  I  had  formerly  some  intercourse 
with  her,  and  she  used  to  promise  she  would  renew  it 
whenever  I  pleased ;  but  whether  she  is  offended  that  I 
have  slighted  her  offers  so  long,  or  whether  she  is  fickle,  or 
only  whimsical,  I  know  not :  all  that  is  quite  undoubted 
is  that  she  has  concealed  herself  so  effectually  from  my 
researches,  that  I  might  as  well  Jook  for  justice  and  clem- 
ency in  the  French  Convention,  as  for  this  former  friend 
in  the  plains  and  lanes  of  Chesington,  where,  erst,  she  met 
me  whether  I  would  or  no.  F.  B. 


Miss  Burney  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Chesington,  1793. 
How  sweet  to  me  was  my  dearest  Fredy's  assurance  that 
my  gratification  and  prudence  went  at  last  hand  in  hand! 
I  had  longed  for  the  sight  of  her  writing,  and  not  dared 
wish  it.  I  shall  now  long  impatiently  till  I  can  have  the 
pleasure  of  saying,  "  Ma'am,  I  desire  no  more  of  your 
letters." 

I  have  heard  to-day  all  I  can  most  covet  of  all  my  dear 


314  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

late  malades.  I  take  it  for  granted  this  little  visit  was 
made  known  to  my  dearest  sister  confidant.  I  had  pre- 
pared for  it  from  the  time  of  my  own  expectation,  and  I 
have  had  much  amusement  in  what  the  preparation  pro- 
duced. Mrs.  Hamilton  ordered  half  a  ham  to  be  boiled 
ready ;  and  Miss  Kitty  trimmed  up  her  best  cap  and  tried 
it  on,  on  Saturday,  to  get  it  in  shape  to  her  face.  She 
made  chocolate  also,  which  we  drank  up  on  Monday  and 
Tuesday,  because  it  was  spoiling.  "  I  have  never  seen 
none  of  the  French  quality,"  she  says,  "and  I  have  a 
purdigious  curosity ;  though  as  to  dukes  and  dukes'  sons, 
and  these  high  top  captains,  I  know  they  '11  think  me  a 
mere  country  bumpkin.  Howsever,  they  can't  call  me 
worse  than  Fat  Kit  Square,  and  that 's  the  worse  name  I 
ever  got  from  any  of  our  English  pelite  bears,  which  I 
suppose  these  pelite  French  quality  never  heard  the  like  of." 

Unfortunately,  however,  when  all  was  prepared  above, 
the  French  top  ca/ptain  entered  while  poor  Miss  Kitty  was 
in  dishhill,  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  finishing  washing  up  her 
china  from  breakfast.  A  maid  who  was  out  at  the  pump, 
and  first  saw  the  arrival,  ran  in  to  give  Miss  Kitty  time  to 
escape,  for  she  was  in  her  round  dress  night-cap,  and  with- 
out her  roll  and  curls.  However,  he  followed  too  quick, 
and  Mrs.  Hamilton  was  seen  in  her  linen  gown  and  mob, 
though  she  had  put  on  a  silk  one  in  expectation  for  every 
noon  these  four  or  five  days  past ;  and  Miss  Kitty  was  in 
such  confusion,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room.  She  soon, 
however,  returned,  with  the  roll  and  curls,  and  the  forehead 
and  throat  fashionably  lost  in  a  silk  gown.  And  though 
she  had  not  intended  to  speak  a  word,  the  gentle  quietness 
of  her  guest  so  surprised  and  pleased  her,  that  she  never 
quitted  his  side  while  he  stayed,  and  has  sung  his  praises 
ever  since. 

Mrs.  Hamilton,  good  soul !  in"talking  and  inquiring  since 


1793.]  OF  MADAME  d'ARBLAY.  315 

of  his  history  and  conduct,  shed  tears  at  the  recital.  She 
says  now  she  has  really  seen  one  of  the  French  gentry  that 
has  been  drove  out  of  their  country  by  the  villains  she 
has  heard  of,  she  shall  begin  to  believe  there  really  has 
been  a  Eevolution !  and  Miss  Kitty  says,  "  I  purtest  I  did 
not  know  before  but  it  was  aU  a  sham."  F.  B. 


Miss  Burney  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

Friday,  May  31st,  Chesington. 

My  heart  so  smites  me  this  morning  with  making  no 
answer  to  all  1  have  been  requested  to  weigh  and  decide, 
that  I  feel  I  cannot  with  any  ease  return  to  town  without 
at  least  complying  with  one  demand,  which  first,  at  parting 
yesterday,  brought  me  to  write  fully  to  you,  my  Susan,  if  I 
could  not  elsewhere  to  my  satisfaction. 

Much  indeed  in  the  course  of  last  night  and  this  morn- 
ing has  occurred  to  me,  that  now  renders  my  longer  silence 
as  to  prospects  and  proceedings  unjustifiable  to  myself  I 
will  therefore  now  address  myself  to  both  my  beloved  con- 
fidants, and  open  to  them  all  my  thoughts,  and  entreat  their 
own  with  equal  plainness  in  return. 

M.  d'Arblay's  last  three  letters  convince  me  he  is  des- 
perately dejected  when  alone,  and  when  perfectly  natural. 
It  is  not  that  he  wants  patience,  but  he  wants  rational 
expectation  of  better  times  :  expectation  founded  on  some- 
thing more  than  mere  aerial  hope,  that  builds  one  day  upon 
what  the  next  blasts  ;  and  then  has  to  build  again,  and 
again  to  be  blasted. 

What  affects  me  the  most  in  this  situation  is,  that  his 
time  may  as  completely  be  lost  as  another's  peace,  by 
waiting  for  the  effects  of  distant  events,  vague,  bewilder- 
ing, and   remote,  and   quite    as  likely  to  lead  to  ill  as  to 


316  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

good.     The  very  waiting,  indeed,  with  the  mind  in  such  a 
state,  is  in  itself  an  evil  scarce  to  be  recompensed. 

My  dearest  Fredy,  in  the  beginning  of  her  knowledge  of 
this  transaction,  told  me  that  Mr.  Locke  was  of  opinion 
that  the  £100  per  annum  might  do,  as  it  does  for  many  a 
curate.  M.  d'A.  also  most  solemnly  and  aft'ectingly  de- 
clares that  le  simjjle  neccssaire  is  all  he  requires,  and  here, 
in  your  vicinity,  would  unhesitatingly  be  preferred  by  him 
to  the  most  brilliant  fortune  in  another  s^jour. 

If  he  can  say  that,  what  must  /  be  not  to  echo  it  ?  I, 
who  in  the  bosom  of  my  own  most  chosen,  most  darling 
friends 

I  need  not  enter  more  upon  this ;  you  all  must  know 
that  to  me  a  crust  of  bread,  with  a  little  roof  for  shelter, 
and  a  fire  for  warmth,  near  you,  would  bring  me  to  peace, 
to  happiness,  to  all  that  my  heart  holds  dear,  or  even  in  any 
situation  could  prize.  I  cannot  picture  such  a  fate  with 
dry  eyes;  all  else  but  kindness  and  society  has  to  me  so 
always  been  nothing. 

.  With  regard  to  my  dear  father,  he  has  always  left  me  to 
myself;  I  will  not  therefore  speak  to  him  while  thus  un- 
certain what  to  decide. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that,  with  peace  of  mind  and  re- 
tirement, I  have  resources  that  I  could  bring  forward  to 
amend  the  little  situation ;  as  well  as  that,  once  thus  un- 
doubtedly established  and  naturalized,  M.  d'A.  would  have 
claims  for  employment. 

These  reflections,  with  a  nmtual  freedom  from  ambition, 
might  lead  to  a  quiet  road,  unbroken  by  tlie  tortures  of 
applications,  expectations,  attendance,  disappointment,  and 
time-wasting  hopes  and  fears ;  if  there  were  not  apprehen- 
sions the  £100  might  be  withdrawn.  I  do  not  think  it 
likely,  but  it  is  a  risk  too  serious  in  its  consequences  to  be 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  317 

run.  ]V1  d'A.  protests  he  could  not  answer  to  himself  the 
hazard.  How  to  ascertain  this,  to  clear  the  doubt,  or  to 
know  the  fatal  certainty  before  it  should  be  too  late,  ex- 
ceeds my  powers  of  suggestion.  His  own  idea,  to  write  to 
the  Queen,  much  as  it  has  startled  me,  and  wild  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  is  certainly  less  wild  than  to  take  the  chance 
of  such  a  blow  in  the  dark. 

Yet  such  a  letter  could  not  even  reach  her.  His  very 
name  is  probably  only  known  to  her  through  myself. 

In  short,  my  dearest  friends,  you  will  think  for  me,  and 
let  me  know  what  occurs  to  you,  and  I  will  defer  any 
answer  till  I  hear  your  opinions. 

Heaven  ever  bless  you !  And  pray  for  me  at  this 
moment.  F.  B. 


Br.  Burney  to  Miss  Buniey. 

May,  1793. 

Dear  Fanny,  —  I  -have  for  some  time  seen  very  plainly 
that  you  are  ^j^rise,  and  have  been  extremely  uneasy  at  the 
discovery.  You  must  have  observed  my  silent  gravity, 
surpassing  that  of  mere  illness  and  its  consequent  low 
spirits.  I  had  some  thoughts  of  writing  to  Susan  about  it, 
and  intended  begging  her  to  do  wliat  I  must  now  do  for 
myself  —  that  is,  beg,  warn,  and  admonish  you  not  to  en- 
tangle yourself  in  a  wild  and  romantic  attachment,  which 
offers  nothing  in  prospect  but  poverty  and  distress,  •with 
future  inconvenience  and  unhappiness.  M.  d'Arblay  is 
certainly  a  very  amiable  and  accomplished  man,  and  of 
great  military  abilities  I  take  for  granted ;  but  what  em- 
ployment has  he  for  them  of  wdiich  the  success  is  not 
extremely  hazardous  ?  His  property,  whatever  it  was,  has 
been  confiscated  —  decreU — by  the  Convention  ;  and  if 
a  counter-revolution  takes  place,  unless  it  be  exactly  such 


318  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  '  [1793. 

a  one  as  suits  the  particular  political  sect  iu  which  he 
enlisted,  it  does  not  seem  likely  to  secure  to  him  an  estab- 
lishment in  France.  And  as  to  an  establishment  in  Ensc- 
laud,  I  know  the  difficulty  which  very  deserving  natives 
find  in  procuring  one,  with  every  appearance  of  interest, 
friends  and  probability ;  and,  to  a  foreigner,  I  fear,  the 
difficulty  will  be  more  than  doubled. 

As  M.  d'Arblay  is  at  present  circumstanced,  an  alliance 
with  anything  but  a  fortune  sufficient  for  the  support  of 
himself  and  partner  would  be  very  imprudent.  He  is  a 
mere  soldier  of  fortune,  under  great  disadvantages.  Your 
income,  if  it  was  as  certain  as  a  freehold  estate,  is  insuffi- 
cient for  the  purpose  ;  and  if  the  Queen  should  be  dis- 
pleased and  withdraw  her  allowance,  what  could  you  do  ? 

I  own  that,  if  M.  d'Arblay  had  an  establishment  in 
France  sufficient  for  him  to  marry  a  wife  with  little  or  no 
fortune,  much  as  I  am  inclined  to  honor  and  esteem  him,  I 
should  wish  to  prevent  you  from  fixing  your  residence 
there;  not  merely  from  selfishness,  but  foi^  your  own  sake. 
I  know  your  love  for  your  family,  and  know  that  it  is  re- 
ciprocal ;  I  therefore  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  would 
mutually  be  a  loss  to  each  other.  The  friends,  too,  which 
you  have  here,  are  of  the  highest  and  most  desirable  class. 
To  quit  them,  in  order  to  make  new  friendships  in  a  strange 
land,  in  which  the  generality  of  its  inhabitants  at  present 
seem  incapable  of  such  virtues  as  friendship  is  built  upon, 
seems  wild  and  visionary. 

If  M.  dArblay  had  a  sufficient  establishment  here  for 
the  purposes  of  credit  and  comfort,  and  determined  to 
settle  here  for  life,  I  should  certainly  think  ourselves  hon- 
ored by  his  alliance ;  but  his  situation  is  at  present  so  very 
remote  from  all  that  can  satisfy  prudence,  or  reconcile  to 
an  affiictionate  father  the  idea  of  a  serious  attachment,  that 
I  tremble  for  your  heart  and  future  happiness.     M.  d'Ar- 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  319 

blay  must  have  lived  too  long  in  the  great  world  to  accom- 
modate himself  contentedly  to  the  little ;  his  fate  seems  so 
intimately  connected  with  that  of  his  miserable  country, 
and  that  country  seems  at  a  greater  distance  from  peace, 
order,  and  tranquillity  now  than  it  has  done  at  any  time 
since  the  revolution. 

These  considerations,  and  the  uncertainty  of  what  party 
will  finally  prevail,  make  me  tremble  for  you  both.  You 
see,  by  what  I  liave  said,  that  my  objections  are  not  per- 
sonal, but  wholly  prudential.  For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear 
Panny,  do  not  part  with  your  heart  too  rapidly,  or  involve 
yourself  in  deep  engagements  which  it  will  be  difficult  to 
dissolve ;  and  to  the  last  degree  imprudent,  as  things  are 
at  present  circumstanced,  to  fulfil. 

As  far  as  character,  merit,  and  misfortune  demand  es- 
teem and  regard,  you  may  be  sure  that  M.  d'Arblay  will 
be  always  received  by  me  with  the  utmost  attention  and 
respect ;  but  in  the  present  situation  of  things,  I  can  by  no 
means  think  I  orght  to  encourage  ( blind  and  ignorant  as  I 
am  of  all  but  his  misfortunes)  a  serious  and  solemn  union 
with  one  whose  unhappiiiess  would  be  a  reproach  to  the 
facility  and  inconsiderateness  of  a  most  aff'ectionate  father. 

[Memorandum,  this  7th  of  May,  1825. 

In  answer  to  these  apparently  most  just,  and,  undoubt- 
edly, most  parental  and  tender  apprehensions,  Susanna,  the 
darling  child  of  Dr.  Barney,  as  well  as  first  chosen  friend 
of  M.  d'Arblay,  wrote  a  statement  of  the  plans,  and  means, 
and  purposes  of  M.dA.  and  F.  B.  —  so  clearly  demonstrat- 
ing their  power  of  happiness,  with  willing  economy,  con- 
genial tastes,  and  mutual  love  of  the  country,  that  Dr.  B. 
gave  way,  and  sent,  though  reluctantly,  a  consent ;  by 
which  the  union  took  place  the  31st  of  July,  1793,  in 
Mickleham  church,  in  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke, 


320  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Phillips,  M.  de  Narbonne,  and  Captain 
Burney,  who  was  father  to  his  sister,  as  Mr.  Locke  w^as  to 
M.  d'A.  ;  and  on  the  1st  of  August  the  ceremony  was  re- 
performed  in  the  Sardinian  Chapel,  according  to  the  rites 
of  the  Komish  Church ;  and  never,  never  was  union  more 
blessed  and  felicitous;  though  after  the  first  eight  yeans 
of  unmingied  happiness,  it  was  assailed  by  many  calam- 
ities, chiefly  of  separation  for  illness,  yet  still  mentally 
unbroken.  F.  d'Arblay.] 


To  Mrs. . 

August  2ud,  1796. 

How  in  the  world  shall  I  begin  this  letter  to  my  dearest 

M !  how  save  her  from  a  surprise  almost  too  strong 

for  her  weak  nerves  and  tender  heart ! 

After  such  an  opening,  perhaps  any  communication  may 
be  a  relief ;  but  it  is  surprise  only  I  would  guard  against ; 
my  present  communication  has  nothing  else  to  fear ;  it  has 
nothing  in  it  sad,  melancholy,  unhappy,  but  it  has  every- 
thing that  is  marvellous  and  unexpected. 

Do  you  recollect  at  all,  when  you  were  last  in  town,  my 
warm  interest  for  the  loyal  part  of  the  French  exiles  ?  — 
do  you  remember  my  iloge,  of  a  French  officer,  in  partic- 
ular, a  certain  M.  d'Arblay  ?     Ah,  my  dear  M ,  you 

are  quick  as  lightning;  your  sensitive  apprehension  will 
tell  my  tale  for  me  now,  without  any  more  aid  than  some 
details  of  circumstance. 

The  e.lo(j&  I  then  made  was  with  design  to  prepare  you 
for  an  event  I  had  reason  to  expect :  such,  however,  was 
the  uncertainty  of  my  situation,  from  prudential  obstacles, 
that  I  dared  venture  at  no  confidence ;  though  my  heart 
prompted  it  strongly,  to  a  friend  so  sweetly  sympathizing 
in  all  my  feelings  and  all  my  affairs  —  so  constantly  affec- 


1793.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  321 

tionate  —  so  tenderly  alive  to  all  that  interests  and  con- 
cerns me. 

My  dearest  M ,  you  will  give  me,  I  am  sure,  your 

heartfelt  wishes  —  your  most  fervent  prayers.  The  choice 
I  have  made  appears  to  me  all  you  could  yourself  wish  to 
fall  to  ray  lot  —  all  you  could  yourself  have  formed  to 
have  best  accorded  with  your  kind  partiality. 

I  had  some  hope  you  would  have  seen  him  that  evening 
we  went  together  from  Mrs.  M.  Montagu  to  Mrs.  Locke's, 
for  he  was  then  a  guest  in  Portland-place ;  but  some  mis- 
erable circumstances,  of  which  I  knew  nothing  till  after 
your  departure,  had  just  fallen  out,  and  he  had  shut  him- 
self up  in  his  room.     He  did  not  know  we  were  there. 

Many,  indeed,  have  been  the  miserable  circumstances 
that  have,  from  time  to  time,  alarmed  and  afflicted  in  turn, 
and  seemed  to  render  a  renunciation  indispensable.  Those 
difficulties,  however,  have  been  conquered ;  and  last  Sun- 
day Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke,  my  sister  and  Captain  Phillips, 
and  my  brother  Captain  Burney,  accompanied  us  to  the 
altar  in  Mickleham  church  ;  since  which  the  ceremony  has 
been  repeated  in  the  chapel  of  the  Sardinian  Ambassador, 
that  if,  by  a  counter-revolution  in  France,  M.  d'Arblay 
recovers  any  of  his  rights,  his  wife  may  not  be  excluded 
from  their  participation. 

You  may  be  amazed  not  to  see  the  name  of  my  dear 
father  upon  this  solemn  occasion  ;  but  his  apprehensions 
from  the  smallness  of  our  income  have  made  him  cold  and 
averse  ;  and  though  he  granted  his  consent,  I  could  not 
even  solicit  his  presence.  1  feel  satisfied,  however,  that 
time  will  convince  him  I  have  not  been  so  imprudent  as 
he  now  thinks  me.  Happiness  is  the  great  end  of  all  our 
worldly  views  and  proceedings,  and  no  one  can  judge  for 
another  in  what  will  produce  it.  To  me,  wealth  and  am- 
bition would  always  be  unavailing ;  I  have  lived  in  their 

VOL.  II.  21 


322  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1793. 

most  centrical  possessions,  and  I  have  always  seen  that 
the  happiness  of  the  richest  and  the  greatest  has  been  the 
moment  of  retiring  from  riches  and  from  power.  Domes- 
tic comfort  and  social  affection  have  invariably  been  the 
sole  as  well  as  ultimate  objects  of  my  choice,  and  I  have 
always  been  a  stranger  to  any  other  species  of  felicity. 

M.  d'Arblay  has  a  taste  for  literature,  and  a  passion 
for  reading  and  writing,  as  marked  as  my  own  ;  this  is  a 
sympathy  to  rob  retirement  of  all  supertiuous  leisure,  and 
insure  to  us  both  occupation,  constantly  edifying  or  enter- 
taining. He  has  seen  so  much  of  life,  and  has  suffered  so 
severely  from  its  disappointments,  that  retreat,  with  a 
chosen  companion,  is  become  his  final  desire. 

Mr.  Locke  has  given  M.  d'Arblay  a  piece  of  ground  in 
his  beautiful  park,  upon  which  we  shall  build  a  Little  neat 
and  plain  habitation.  We  shall  continue,  meanwhile,  in 
his  neighborhood,  to  superintend  the  little  edifice,  and 
enjoy  the  society  of  his  exquisite  house,  and  that  of  my 
beloved  sister  Phillips.  We  are  now  within  two  miles 
of  both,  at  a  farm-house,  where  we  have  what  apartments 
we  require,  and  no  more,  in  a  most  beautiful  and  healthy 
situation,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  any  town.  The  nearest 
is  Bookham ;  but  I  beg  that  my  letters  may  be  directed  to 
me  at  Captain  Phillips's,  Mickleham,  as  the  post  does  not 
come  this  way,  and  I  may  else  miss  them  for  a  week. 

As  I  do  not  correspond  with  Mrs.  Montagu,  and  it  would 
be  awkward  to  begin  upon  such  a  theme,  I  beg  that  when 
you  write  you  will  say  something  for  me. 

One  of  my  first  pleasures,  in  our  little  intended  home, 
will  be  finding  a  place  of  honor  for  the  legacy  of  Mrs. 
Delany.  Whatever  may  be  the  general  wonder,  and 
perhaps  blame,  of  general  people,  at  this  connection, 
equally  indiscreet  in  pecuniary  points  for  us  both,  I  feel 
sure  that  the  truly  liberal  and  truly  intellectual  judgment 


1793.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  323 

of  that  most  venerated  character  would  have  accorded  its 
sanction,  when  acquainted  with  the  worthiness  of  the  ob- 
ject who  would  wish  it. 

Adieu,  my  sweet  friend.  Give  my  best  compliments  to 
Mr. ,  and  give  me  your  kind  wishes,  your  kind  pray- 
ers, my  ever  dear  M .  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs. . 

The  account  of  your  surprise,  my  sweet  friend,  was  the 
last  thing  to  create  mine  :  I  was  well  aware  of  the  general 
astonishment,  and  of  yours  in  particular.  My  own,  how- 
ever, at  my  very  extraordinary  fate,  is  singly  greater  than 
that  of  all  my  friends  united.  I  had  never  made  any  vow 
against  marriage,  but  I  had  long,  long  been  firmly  per- 
suaded it  was  for  me  a  state  of  too  much  hazard  and  too 
little  promise  to  draw  me  from  my  individual  plans  and 
purposes.  I  remember,  in  playing  at  questions  and  com- 
mands, when  I  was  thirteen,  being  asked  when  I  intended 
to  marry  ?  and  surprising  my  playmates  by  solemnly  re- 
plying, "  When  I  tliink  I  shall  be  happier  than  I  am  in 
being  single."  It  is  true,  I  imagined  that  time  would 
never  arrive  ;  and  I  have  pertinaciously  adhered  to  trying 
no  experiment  upon  any  other  hope  ;  for,  many  and  mixed 
as  are  the  ingredients  which  form  what  is  generally  con- 
sidered as  happiness,  I  was  always  fully  convinced  that 
social  sympathy  of  character  and  taste  could  alone  have 
any  chance  with  me-;  all  else  I  always  thought,  and  now 
know,  to  be  immaterial.  I  have  only  this  peculiar,  —  that 
what  many  contentedly  assert  or  adopt  in  theory,  I  have 
had  the  courage  to  be 'guided  by  in  practice. 

We  are  now  removed  to  a  very  small  house  in  the  sub- 
urbs of  a  very  small  village  called  Bookham.     We  found 


324  DIAEY   AND   LETTEES  [1793. 

it  rather  inconvenient  to  reside  in  another  person's  dwell- 
ing, though  our  own  apartments  were  to  ourselves.  Our 
views  are  not  so  beautiful  as  from  Phenice  Farm,  but 
our  situation  is  totally  free  from  neighbors  and  intrusion. 
We  are  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Norbury  Park,  and 
two  miles  from  Mickleham.  I  am  become  already  so  stout 
a  walker,  by  use,  and  with  the  help  of  a  very  able  sup- 
porter, that  I  go  to  those  places  and  return  home  on  foot 
without  fatigue,  when  the  weather  is  kind.  At  other  times 
I  condescend  to  accept  a  carriage  from  Mr.  Locke ;  but  it 
is  always  reluctantly,  I  so  much  prefer  walking  where,  as 
here,  the  country  and  prospects  are  inviting. 

I  thank  you  for  your  caution  about  building :  we  shall 
certainly  undertake  nothing  but  by  contract ;  however,  it 
would  be  truly  mortifying  to  give  up  a  house  in  Norbury 
Park ;  we  defer  the  structure  till  the  spring,  as  it  is  to  be 
so  very  slight,  that  Mr.  Locke  says  it  will  be  best  to  have 
it  hardened  in  its  first  stage  by  the  summer's  sun.  It  will 
be  very  small,  merely  an  habitation  for  three  people,  but 
in  a  situation  truly  beautiful,  and  within  five  minutes  of 
either  Mr.  Locke  or  my  sister  Phillips :  it  is  to  be  placed 
just  between  these  two  loved  houses. 

My  dearest  father,  whose  fears  and  drawbacks  have  been 
my  sole  subject  of  regret,  begins  now  to  see  I  have  not 
judged  rashly,  or  with  romance,  in  seeing  my  own  road  to 
my  own  felicity.  And  his  restored  cheerful  concurrence 
in  my  constant  principles,  though  new  station,  leaves  me, 
for  myself,  without  a  wish.  L'ennui,  which  could  alone  in- 
fest our  retreat,  I  have  ever  been  a  stranger  to,  except  in 
tiresome  company,  and  my  companion  has  every  possible 
resource  against  either  feeling  or  inspiring  it. 

As  my  partner  is  a  Frenchman,  I  conclude  the  wonder 
raised  by  the  connection  may  spread  beyond  my  own  pri- 
vate circle ;  but  no  wonder  upon  earth  can  ever  arrive  near 


1793.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  325 

my  own  in  having  found  such  a  character  from  that  nation. 
This  is  a  prejudice  certainly,  impertinent  and  very  John 
Bullish,  and  very  arrogant ;  but  I  only  share  it  with  all 
my  countrymen,  and  therefore  must  needs  forgive  both 
them  and  myself  I  am  convinced,  however,  from  your 
tender  solicitude  for  me  in  all  ways,  that  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  the  Queen  and  all  the  Eoyal  Family  have 
deigned  to  send  me  wishes  for  my  happiness  through  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  who  has  written  me  "  what  you  call "  a  very 
kind  contrratulation.  F.  d'A. 


326  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1795. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

1794  —  1800. 

[In  the  year  1794,  the  happiness  of  the  "Hermitage" 
was  increased  by  the  birth  of  a  son,  who  was  christened 
Alexander  Charles  Louis  Piochard  d'Arblay ;  receiving  the 
names  of  his  father,  with  those  of  his  two  godfathers,  the 
Comte  de  Narbonne  and  Dr.  Charles  Burney.] 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  IfYs. . 

BooKHAM,  April  15,  1795. 

So  dry  a  reproof  from  so  dear  a  friend !  And  do  you, 
then,  measure  my  regard  of  heart  by  my  remissness  of 
hand  ?  Let  me  give  you  the  short  history  of  my  tragedy, 
fairly  and  frankly. 

I  wrote  it  not,  as  your  acquaintance  imagined,  for  the 
stage,  nor  yet  for  the  press.  I  began  it  at  Kew  Palace  and 
at  odd  moments,  I  finished  it  at  Windsor;  without  the 
least  idea  of  any  species  of  publication. 

Since  I  left  the  Royal  household,  I  ventured  to  let  it 
be  read  by  my  father,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke,  my  sister 
Phillips,  and,  of  course,  M.  d'Arblay,  and  not  another  hu- 
man being. 

Their  opinions  led  to  what  followed,  and  my  brother. 
Dr.  Charles,  showed  it  to  Mr.  Kemble  while  I  was  on  my 
visit  to  my  father  last  October.     He  instantly  and  warmly 


1795.]  OF  MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  327 

pronounced  for  its  acceptance,  but  I  knew  not  when  Mr. 
Sheridan  would  see  it,  and  had  not  the  smallest  expecta- 
tion of  its  appearing  this  year.  However,  just  three  days 
before  my  beloved  little  infant  came  into  the  world,  an  ex- 
press arrived  from  my  brother,  that  Mr.  Kemble  wanted 
the  tragedy  immediately,  in  order  to  show  it  to  Mr.  Sheri- 
dan, who  had  just  heard  of  it,  and  had  spoken  in  the  most 
flattering  terms  of  his  good  will  for  its  reception. 

Still,  however,  I  was  in  doubt  of  its  actual  acceptance 
till  three  weeks  after  my  confinement,  when  I  had  a  visit 
from  my  brother,  who  told  me  he  was,  the  next  morning, 
to  read  the  piece  in  the  green-room. 

This  was  a  precipitance  for  which  I  was  every  way  un- 
prepared, as  I  had  never  made  but  one  copy  of  the  play, 
and  had  intended  divers  corrections  and  alterations.  Ab- 
sorbed, however,  by  my  new  charge,  and  then  growing  ill, 
I  had  a  sort  of  indifference  about  the  matter,  which,  in 
fact,  has  lasted  ever  since. 

The  moment  I  was  then  able  to  hold  a  pen  I  wrote  two 
short  letters,  to  acknowledge  the  state  of  the  affair  to  my 
sisters ;  and  to  one  of  these  epistles  I  had  an  immediate 
laughing  answer,  informing  me  my  confidence  was  some- 
what of  the  latest,  as  the  subject  of  it  was  already  in  all  the 
newspapers !  I  was  extremely  chagrined  at  this  intelli- 
gence :  but,  from  that  time,  thought  it  all  too  late  to  be  the 
herald  of  my  own  designs.  And  this,  added  to  my  natural 
and  incurable  dislike  to  enter  upon  these  egotistical  details 

unasked,  has  caused  my  silence  to  my  dear  M ,  and  to 

every  friend  I  possess.  Indeed,  speedily  after,  I  had  an 
illness  so  severe  and  so  dangerous,  that  for  full  seven 
weeks  the  tragedy  was  neither  named  nor  thought  of  by 
M.  d'Arblay  or  myself. 

The  piece  was  represented  to  the  utmost  disadvantage, 
save  only  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Mr.  Kemble ;  for  it  was  not 


328  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1795. 

written  with  any  idea  of  the  stage,  and  my  illness  and 
weakness,  and  constant  absorbment,  at  the  time  of  its 
preparation,  occasioned  it  to  appear  with  so  many  un- 
dramatic  effects,  from  my  inexperience  of  theatrical  requi- 
sites and  demands,  that,  when  I  saw  it,  I  myself  perceived 
a  thousand  things  I  wished  to  change.  The  performers, 
too,  were  cruelly  imperfect,  and  made  blunders  I  blush  to 
have  pass  for  mine  —  added  to  what  belong  to  me.  The 
most  important  character  after  the  hero  and  heroine  had 
but  two  lines  of  his  part  by  heart !  He  made  all  the  rest 
at  random,  and  such  nonsense  as  put  all  the  other  actors 
out  as  much  as  himself;  so  that  a  more  wretched  perform- 
ance, except  Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Kemble,  and  Mr,  Bensley, 
could  not  be  exhibited  in  a  barn. 

All  this  occurred  to  make  it  very  desirable  to  withdraw 
the  piece  for  alterations,  which  I  have  done. 

And  now  you  have  the  whole  history  —  and  now  —  are 
you  appeased  ?  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Br.  Buniey. 

Hermitage,  Bookham,  May  13,  1795. 
Horticulture  prospers  beyond  all  former  even  ideas  of 
prosperity.  How,  how  I  do  wish  you  could  come  and 
take  an  hour's  work  here  !  it  would  mingle  so  well  with 
Metastasio  !  —  the  employment  —  the  fragrant  surrounding 
air  —  the  sweet  refreshing  landscape  —  and  your  partner 
in  labor,  —  all  would  be  congenial  with  Metastasio,  and, 
consequently,  with  you ;  for  you  know,  when  we  were  all 
to  choose  who  we  would  be  if  not  our  dear  identical  and 
always  all-preferable  selves,  you  fixed  upon  Metastasio  ; 
and  indeed,  in  many,  nay  most  respects,  it  would  hardly  be 
a  change. 


1795.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  329 

To  be  sure,  as  you  say,  'tis  pity  M.  d'A.  and  his  rib 
should  have  conceived  such  an  antipathy  to  the  petit  mon- 
sieur !  Oh  if  you  could  see  him  now  !  My  mother  would 
be  satisfied,  for  his  little  cheeks  are  beginning  to  savor  of 
the  trumpeter's,  and  Esther  would  be  satisfied,  for  he  eats 
like  an  embryo  alderman.  He  enters  into  all  we  think, 
say,  mean,  and  wish  !  His  eyes  are  sure  to  sympathize  in 
all  our  affairs  and  all  our  feelings.  We  find  some  kind 
reason  for  every  smile  he  bestows  upon  us,  and  some 
generous  and  disinterested  motive  for  every  grave  look. 
If  he  wants  to  be  danced,  we  see  he  has  discovered  that 
his  gaiety  is  exhilarating  to  us  ;  if  he  refuses  to  be  moved, 
we  take  notice  that  he  fears  to  fatigue  us.  If  he  will  not 
be  quieted  without  singing,  we  delight  in  his  early  gout  for 
les  beaux  arts.  If  he  is  immovable  to  all  we  can  devise  to 
divert  him,  we  are  edified  by  the  grand  s^rieux  of  his  dig- 
nity and  philosophy :  if  he  makes  the  house  ring  with 
loud  acclaim  because  his  food,  at  first  call,  does  not  come 
ready  warm  into  his  mouth,  we  hold  up  our  hands  with 
admiration  at  his  vivacity. 


Madame  d' Arblay  to  Mrs. . 

BooKHAM,  June  15,  '95. 

No,  my  dear  M ,  no  ;  —  "  this  poor  intercourse  "  shall 

never  cease,  while  the  hand  that  writes  this  assurance  can 
hold  a  pen  !  I  have  been  very  much  touched  with  your 
letter,  its  affection,  and  its  —  everything.  Do  not  for  the 
world  suffer  this  our  only  communication  to  "  dwindle 
away:"  for  me,  though  the  least  punctual  of  all  corre- 
spondents, I  am,  perhaps,  the  most  faithful  of  all  friends ; 
for  my  regard,  once  excited,  keeps  equal  energy  in  absence 
as  in  presence,  and  an  equally  fond  and  minute  interest  in 


330  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1795. 

those  for  whom  I  cherish  it,  whether  I  see  them  but  at  the 
distance  of  years,  or  with  every  day's  sun.  Sun  it  is,  even 
in  winter,  that  shines  upon  sights  so  sweet  as  of  persons 
beloved.  My  dear  and  darling  sister  Phillips  will  now 
once  more  experience  this  truth,  for  last  Monday  she  left 
Mickleham  — ISTorbury  Park  —  Bookham  —  every  spot  most 
dear  to  her,  to  go  and  live  in  London !  Will  she,  think 
you,  for  that,  be  ever  absent  from  my  mind  ?  WiU  my  new 
ties,  dear  almost  to  adoration  as  they  are  to  me,  ever  oblit- 
erate my  former  ones  ?     No,  my  dear   M ,  all  those 

whom  I  best  love  have  something  more  or  less,  of  resem- 
blance one  to  another ;  each,  therefore,  rather  helps  than 
mars  my  affection  for  the  rest.  I  love  nohody  for  nothing  ; 
I  am  not  so  tindery  !  therefore  there  must  be  change  in  the 
object  before  there  can  be  any  in  me. 
I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  — 

And  lastly,  let  me  hasten  to  tell  you  something  of  my- 
self that  I  shall  be  very  sorry  you  should  hear  from  any 
other,  as  your  too  susceptible  mind  would  be  hurt  again, 
and  that  would  grieve  me  quite  to  the  heart. 

I  have  a  long  work,  which  a  long  time  has  been  in  hand, 
that  I  meaja  to  publish  soon  —  in  about  a  year.^  Should 
it  succeed,  like  "  Evelina  "  and  "  Cecilia,"  it  may  be  a  little 
portion  to  our  Bambino.  We  wish,  therefore,  to  print  it 
for  ourselves  in  this  hope ;  but  the  expenses  of  the  press 
are  so  enormous,  so  raised  by  these  late  Acts,  that  it  is  out 
of  all  question  for  us  to  afford  it.  We  have,  therefore,  been 
led  by  degrees  to  listen  to  coun'sel  of  some  friends,  and  to 
print  it  by  subscription.  This  is  in  many  —  many  ways 
unpleasant  and  unpalatable  to  us  both  ;  but  the  real  chance 
of  real  use  and  benefit  to  our  little  darling  overcomes  all 
scruples,  and,  therefore,  to  work  we  go ! 

1  Her  novel  of  "Camilla." 


1795.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  331 

You  will  feel,  I  dare  believe,  all  I  could  write  on  this 
subject ;  I  once  rejected  such  a  plan,  formed  for  me  by  Mr. 
Burke,  where  books  were  to  be  kept  by  ladies,  not  book- 
sellers—  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  Mrs.  Boscawen,  and 
Mrs.  Crewe;  but  I  was  an  individual  then,  and  had  no 
cares  of  times  to  come  :  now,  thank  Heaven  !  this  is  not 
the  case  ;  —  and  when  I  look  at  my  little  boy's  dear,  inno- 
cent, yet  intelligent  face,  I  defy  any  pursuit  to  be  painful 
that  may  lead  to  his  good. 

Adieu,  my  ever  dear  friend  !  F,  d'A. 


Madame  d^Arblay  to  the  Comte  de  Narbonne  (written  during  his  embar- 
rassments from  the  French  Revolution,  and  in  answer  to  a  letter  ex- 
pressing bitter  disappointment  from  repeated  losses). 

BooKHAM,  26th  December,  1795. 

What  a  letter,  to  terminate  so  long  and  painful  a  silence  ! 
It  has  penetrated  us  with  sorrowing  and  indignant  feelings. 
Unknown  to  M.  d'Arblay,  whose  grief  and  horror  are  upon 
the  point  of  making  him  quite  ill,  I  venture  this  address 
to  his  most  beloved  friend ;  and  before  I  seal  it,  I  will  give 
him  the  option  to  burn  or  underwrite  it. 

I  shall  be  brief  in  what  I  have  to  propose :  sincerity 
need  not  be  loquacious,  and  M.  Narbonne  is  too  kind  to 
demand  phrases  for  ceremony. 

Should  your  present  laudable  but  melancholy  plan  fail, 
and  should  nothing  better  offer,  or  till  something  can  be 
arranged,  will  you,  dear  sir,  condescend  to  share  the  pov- 
erty of  our  Hermitage  ?  Will  you  take  a  little  cell  under 
our  rustic  roof,  and  fare  as  we  fare  ?  What  to  us  two 
hermits  is  cheerful  and  happy  will  to  you,  indeed,  be 
miserable ;  but  it  will  be  some  solace  to  the  goodness  of 
your  heart  to  witness  our  contentment  —  to  dig  with  M. 


332  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

d'A.  in  the  garden  will  be  of  service  to  your  health  ;  to 
nurse  sometimes  with  me  in  the  parlor  will  be  a  relaxation 
to  your  mind.  You  will  not  blush  to  own  your  little  god- 
son. Come,  then,  and  give  him  your  blessing ;  relieve  the 
wounded  feelings  of  his  father  —  oblige  his  mother  —  and 
turn  hermit  at  Bookham,  till  brighter  suns  invite  you  else- 
where. 

F.  d'Arblay. 
You  will  have  terrible  dinners,  alas  !  —  but  your  godson 
comes  in  for  the  dessert. 

[During  the  years  1794  and  1795,  Madame  d'Arblay 
finished  and  prepared  for  the  press  her  third  novel,  "  Ca- 
milla," which  was  published  partly  by  subscription  in  1796  ; 
the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Leinster,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Boscawen, 
Mrs.  Crewe,  and  Mrs.  Locke,  kindly  keeping  lists,  and 
receiving  the  names  of  subscribers. 

This  work  having  been  dedicated  by  permission  to  the 
Queen,  the  authoress  was  desirous  of  presenting  the  first 
copy  to  her  Majesty,  and  made  a  journey  to  Windsor  for 
that  honor.] 


Madame  d'Arblu!/  to  Dr.  Burney. 

Bookham,  July  10,  1796. 

If  I  had  as  much  of  time  as  of  matter,  my  dear  father, 
what  an  immense  letter  should  I  write  you  !  But  I  have 
still  so  many  book  oddments  of  accounts,  examinations, 
directions,  and  little  household  affairs  to  arrange,  that  with 
baby-kissing  included,  I  expect  I  can  give  you  to-day  only 
part  the  first  of  an  excursion  which  I  mean  to  comprise  in 
four  parts  :  so  here  begins. 

The  books  were  ready  at  eleven  or  twelve,  but  not  so  the 
tailor !    The  three  Miss  Thrales  came  to  a  short  but  cor- 


1796.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  333 

dial  hand-shaking  at  the  last  minute,  by  appointment ;  and 
at  about  half-past  three  we  set  forward.  I  had  written 
the  day  before  to  my  worthy  old  friend  Mrs.  Agnew,  the 
housekeeper,  erst,  of  my  revered  Mrs.  Delany,  to  secure 
us  rooms  for  oue  day  and  night,  and  to  Miss  Planta  to 
make  known  I  could  not  set  out  till  late 

When  we  came  into  Windsor  at  seven  o'clock,  the  way 
to  Mrs.  Agnew's  was  so  intricate  that  we  could  not  find  it, 
till  one  of  the  King's  footmen,  recollecting  me,  I  imagine, 
came  forward,  a  volunteer,  and  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
chaise  to  show  the  postilion  the  house.  N.B.  —  No  bad 
omen  to  worldly  augurers. 

Arrived,  Mrs.  Agnew  came  forth  with  faithful  attach- 
ment, to  conduct  us  to  oar  destined  lodgings.  I  wrote 
hastily  to  Miss  Planta,  to  announce  to  the  Queen  that  I 
was  waiting  the  honor  of  her  Majesty's  commands ;  and 
then  began  preparing  for  my  appearance  the  next  morn- 
ing, when  I  expected  a  summons ;  but  Miss  Planta  came 
instantly  herself  from  the  Queen,  with  orders  of  imme- 
diate attendance,  as  her  Majesty  would  see  me  directly  ! 
The  King  was  just  gone  upon  the  Terrace,  but  her  Majesty 
did  not  walk  that  evening. 

Mrs.  Agnew  was  my  maid,  Miss  Planta  my  arranger  ; 
my  landlord,  who  was  a  hairdresser,  came  to  my  head,  and 
M.  d'Arblay  was  general  superintendent.  The  haste  and 
the  joy  went  hand  in  hand,  and  I  was  soon  equipped, 
though  shocked  at  ray  own  precipitance  in  sending  before 
I  was  already  visible.  Who,  however,  could  have  expected 
such  prompt  admission  ?  and  in  an  evening  ? 

M.  d'Arblay  helped  to  carry  the  books  as  far  as  to  the 
gates.  My  lodgings  were  as  near  to  them  as  possible.  At 
the  first  entry  towards  the  Queen's  lodge,  we  encountered 
Dr.  Fisher  and  his  lady  :  the  sight  of  me  there,  in  a  dress 
announcing  indisputably  whither  I  was  hieing,  was  such 


334  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

an  astonishment  that  they  looked  at  me  rather  as  a  recol- 
lected spectre  than  a  renewed  acquaintance.  When  we 
came  to  the  iron  rails,  poor  Miss  Planta,  in  much  fidget, 
begged  to  take  the  books  from  M.  d'Arblay,  terrified,  I 
imagine,  lest  French  feet  sliould  contaminate  the  gravel 
within!  —  while  he,  innocent  of  her  fears,  was  insisting 
upon  carrying  them  as  far  as  to  the  house,  till  he  saw  I 
took  part  with  Miss  Planta,  and  he  was  then  compelled  to 
let  us  lug  in  ten  volumes  as  we  could. 

The  King  was  already  returned  from  the  Terrace,  the 
page  in  waiting  told  us.  "  0,  then,"  said  Miss  Planta, 
"  3^ou  are  too  late  ! "  However,  I  went  into  my  old  dining- 
parlor ;  while  she  said  she  would  see  if  any  one  could  ob- 
tain the  Queen's  commands  for  another  time.  I  did  not 
stay  five  minutes  ruminating  upon  the  dinners,  "  gone 
where  the  chickens,"  &c.,  when  Miss  Planta  returned,  and 
told  me  the  Queen  would  see  me  instantly. 

The  Queen  was  in  her  dressing-room,  and  with  only  the 
Princess  Elizabeth.  Her  reception  was  the  most  gracious 
imaginable  ;  yet,  when  she  saw  my  emotion  in  thus  meet- 
ing her  again,  she  was  herself  by  no  means  quite  unmoved. 
I  presented  my  little  —  yet  not  small  —  offering,  upon  one 
knee,  placing  them,  as  she  directed,  upon  a  table  by  her 
side,  and  expressing  as  well  as  I  could  my  devoted  grati- 
tude for  her  invariable  goodness  to  me.  She  then  began  a 
conversation,  in  her  old  style,  upon  various  things  and 
people,  with  all  her  former  graciousness  of  manner,  which 
soon,  as  she  perceived  my  strong  sense  of  her  indulgence, 
grew  into  even  all  its  former  kindness.  Particulars  I  have 
now  no  room  for ;  but,  when,  in  about  half  an  hour,  she 
said,  "How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay  here,  Madame 
d'Arblay  ? "  and  I  answered,  "  We  have  no  intentions, 
ma'am,"  she  repeated,  laughing,  "  You  have  no  intentions  ! 
—  Well,  then,  if  you  can  come  again  to-morrow  morning, 
you  shall  see  the  Princesses." 


1796.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  335 

She  then  said  she  would  not  detain  me  at  present ;  and, 
encouraged  by  all  that  had  passed,  I  asked  if  I  might  pre- 
sume to  put  at  the  door  of  the  King's  apartment  a  copy  of 
my  little  work.  She  hesitated,  but  with  smiles  tlie  most 
propitious;  then  told  me  to  fetch  the  books;  and  wliispered 
something  to  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  left  the  room  by 
another  door  at  the  same  moment  that  I  retired  for  the 
other  set.  Almost  immediately  upon  my  return  to  the 
Queen  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  the  King  entered 
the  apartment,  and  entered  it  to  receive  himself  my  little 
offering. 

"  Madame  d'Arblay,"  said  her  Majesty,  "  tells  me  that 
Mrs.  Boscawen  is  to  have  the  third  set ;  but  the  first  — 
your  Majesty  will  excuse  me  —  is  mine."  This  was  not, 
you  will  believe,  thrown  away  upon  me.  The  King,  smil- 
ing, said,  "  Mrs.  Boscawen,  I  hear,  has  been  very  zealous." 
I  confirmed  this,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth  eagerly  called 
out,  "  Yes,  sir !  and  while  Mrs.  Boscawen  kept  a  book  for 
Madame  d'Arblay,  the  Duchess  of  Beaufort  kept  one  for 
Mrs.  Boscawen." 

This  led  to  a  little  discourse  upon  the  business,  in  which 
the  King's  countenance  seemed  to  speak  a  benign  interest: 
and  the  Queen  then  said,  "  This  book  was  begun  here,  sir." 
Which  already  I  had  mentioned. 

"  And  what  did  you  write  of  it  here  ? "  cried  he.  "  How 
far  did  you  go  ?  —  Did  you  finish  any  part  ?  or  only  form 
the  skeleton  ?  " 

"  Just  that,  sir,"  I  answered  ;  "  the  skeleton  was  formed 
here,  but  nothing  was  completed.  I  worked  it  up  in  my 
little  cottage." 

"  And  about  what  time  did  you  give  to  it  ?  "  "  All  my 
time,  sir ;  from  the  period  I  planned  publishing  it,  I  de- 
voted myself  to  it  wholly.  I  had  no  episode  but  a  little 
baby.     My  subject  grew  upon  me,  and  increased  my  mate- 


336  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

rials  to  a  bulk  that  I  am  afraid  will  be  more  laborious  to 
wade  through  for  the  reader  than  for  the  writer." 

"  Are  you  much  frightened  ?  "  cried  he,  smiling  ;  "  as 
much  frightened  as  you  were  before  ? " 

"  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  know  yet,  sir.  I  received 
the  fair  sheets  of  the  last  volume  only  last  night.  I  have, 
therefore,  had  no  leisure  for  fear.  And  sure  I  am,  happen 
what  may  to  the  book  from  the  critics,  it  can  never  cause 
me  pain  in  any  proportion  with  the  pleasure  and  happiness 
I  owe  to  it."  I  am  sure  I  spoke  most  sincerely ;  and  he 
looked  kindly  to  believe  me.  He  asked  if  Mr.  Locke  had 
seen  it ;  and,  when  I  said  no,  seemed  comically  pleased,  as 
if  desirous  to  have  it  in  its  first  state.  He  asked  next  if 
Dr.  Burney  had  overlooked  it ;  and,  upon  the  same  answer, 
looked  with  the  same  satisfaction.  He  did  not  imagine 
how  it  would  have  passed  current  with  my  dearest  father: 
he  appeared  only  to  be  glad  it  would  be  a  genuine  work  : 
but,  laughingly,  said,  "  So  you  kept  it  quite  snug  ? " 

"Not  intentionally,  sir,  but  from  my  situation  and  my 
haste ;  I  should  else  have  been  very  happy  to  have  con- 
sulted my  father  and  Mr.  Locke  ;  but  I  had  so  much,  to 
the  last  moment,  to  write,  that  I  literally  had  not  a  moment 
to  hear  what  could  be  said.  The  work  is  longer  by  the 
whole  fifth  volume  than  I  had  first  planned  ;  and  I  am 
almost  ashamed  to  look  at  its  size,  and  afraid  my  readers 
would  have  been  more  obliged  to  me  if  I  had  left  so  much 
out  than  for  putting  so  much  in."  He  laughed  ;  and 
inquired  who  corrected  my  proofs  ?  "  Only  myself,"  I 
answered. 

"  Why,  some  authors  have  told  me,"  cried  he,  "  that  they 
are  the  last  to  do  that  work  for  themselves.  They  know  so 
well  by  heart  what  ought  to  be,  that  they  run  on  without 
seeing  what  is.  They  have  told  me,  besides,  that  a  mere 
plodding  head  is  best  and  surest  for  that  work ;  and  that 


1796.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  337 

the  livelier  the  imagination,  the  less  it  should  be  trusted 
to." 

I  must  not  go  on  thus  minutely,  or  my  four  parts  will 
be  forty.  But  a  full  half-hour  of  graciousness  I  could 
almost  call  kindness  was  accorded  me,  though  the  King 
came  from  the  concert  to  grant  it ;  and  it  broke  up  by  the 
Queen  saying,  "  I  have  told  Madame  d'Arblay  that,  if  she 
can  come  again  to-morrow,  she  shall  see  the  Princesses." 

The  King  bowed  gently  to  my  grateful  obeisance  for 
this  offer,  and  told  me  I  should  not  know  the  Princess 
Amelia,  she  was  so  much  grown,  adding,  "  She  is  taller 
than  you ! " 

I  expressed  warmly  my  delight  in  the  permission  of 
seeing  their  Eoyal  Highnesses ;  and  their  Majesties  re- 
turned to  the  concert-room.  The  Princess  Elizabeth 
stayed,  and  flew  up  to  me,  crying,  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  here  again,  my  dear  Miss  Burney  !  —  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Madame  d'Arblay  I  mean  —  but  I  always  call  all  my 
friends  by  their  maiden  names  when  I  first  see  them  after 
they  are  married." 

I  warmly  now  opened  upon  my  happiness  in  this  return 
to  all  their  sights,  and  the  condescension  and  sweetness 
with  which  it  was  granted  me  ;  and  confessed  I  could 
hardly  behave  prettily  and  properly  at  my  first  entrance 
after  so  long  an  absence.  "  Oh,  I  assure  you  I  felt  for 
you  !  "  cried  she  ;  "  I  thought  you  must  be  agitated  ;  it  was 
so  natural  to  you  to  come  here  —  to  Mamma  ! " 

You  will  believe,  my  dearest  father,  how  light-hearted 
and  full  of  glee  I  went  back  to  my  expecting  companion : 
Miss  Planta  accompanied  me,  and  stayed  the  greatest  part 
of  the  little  remaining  evening,  promising  to  let  me  know 
at  what  hour  I  should  wait  upon  their  Royal  Highnesses. 
The  next  morning,  at  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  my  old  foot- 
man. Moss,  came  with  Mdlle.  Jacobi's  compliments  to  M. 
VOL.  II.  22 


338  DIA.RY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

and  Madame  d'Arblay,  and  an  invitation  to  dine  at  the 
Queen's  Lodge. 

Miss  Planta  arrived  at  ten,  with  her  Majesty's  commands 
that  I  should  be  at  the  Queen's  Lodge  at  twelve.  I  stayed, 
meanwhile,  with  good  Mrs.  Agnew,  and  M.  d'Arblay  made 
acquaintance  with  her  worthy  husband,  who  is  a  skilful 
and  famous  botanist,  and  lately  made  gardener  to  the  Queen 
fur  Frogmore ;  so  M.  d'Arblay  consulted  him  about  our 
cahhages!  and  so,  if  they  have  not  now  a  high  flavor,  we 
are  hopeless. 

At  eleven  M.  d'Arblay  again  ventured  to  esquire  me  to 
the  rails  round  the  lodge,  whence  I  showed  him  ray  ci- 
devant  apartment,  which  he  languished  to  view  nearer.  I 
made  a  visit  to  Mdlle.  Jacobi,  wlio  is  a  very  good  creature, 
and  with  whom  I  remained  very  comfortably  till  her  Ma- 
jesty and  the  Princesses  returned  from  Frogmore,  where 
they  had  passed  two  or  three  hours.  Almost  immediately 
I  was  summoned  to  the  Queen  by  one  of  the  pages.  She 
was  just  seated  to  her  hair-dresser.  She  conversed  upon 
various  public  and  general  topics  till  the  friseur  was  dis- 
missed, and  then  I  was  honored  with  an  audience,  quite 
alone,  for  a  full  hour  and  a  half.  In  this,  nothing  could 
be  more  gracious  than  her  whole  manner  and  discourse. 
The  particulars,  as  there  was  no  pause,  would  fill  a  duo- 
decimo volume  at  least.  Among  them  was  Mr.  Wyndham, 
whom  she  named  with  great  favor  ;  and  gave  me  the  op- 
portunity of  expressing  my  delight  upon  his  belonging  to 
the  Government.  We  had  so  often  conversed  about  him 
during  the  accounts  I  had  related  of  Mr.  Hastings's  trial, 
that  there  was  much  to  say  upon  the  acquisition  to  the 
administration,  and  my  former  round  assertions  of  his 
goodness  of  heart  and  honor.  She  inquired  how  you  did, 
my  dearest  father,  with  an  air  of  great  kindness ;  and, 
when  I  said  well,  looked  pleased,  as  she  answered,  "  I  was 


1796.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  339 

afraid  he  was  ill,  for  I  saw  him  but  twice  last  year  at  our 
music." 

She  then  gave  me  an  account  of  the  removal  of  the  con- 
cert to  the  Haymarket  since  the  time  I  was  admitted  to 
it.  She  talked  of  some  books  and  authors,  but  found  me 
wholly  in  the  clouds  as  to  all  that  is  new.  She  then  said, 
"What  a  very  pretty  book  Dr.  Burney  has  brought  out 
upon  Metastasio  !  I  am  very  much  pleased  with  it.  Pray 
(smiling)  what  will  he  bring  out  next?"  "As  yet,  Ma- 
dam, I  don't  know  of  any  new  plan."  "  But  he  will  bring 
out  something  else  ?  " 

"  Most  probably ;  but  he  will  rest  a  little  first,  I  fancy." 

"  Has  he  nothing  in  hand  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  Madam." 

"  Oh,  but  he  soon  will ! "  cried  she,  again  smiling.  "  He 
has  so  active  a  mind.  Ma'am,  that  I  believe  it  quite  impos- 
sible to  him  to  be  utterly  idle ;  but,  indeed,  I  know  of  no 
present  design  being  positively  formed."  We  had  then 
some  discourse  upon  the  new  connection  at  Norbury  Park 
—  the  Fitzgeralds,  &c. ;  and  I  had  the  opportunity  to  speak 
as  highly  as  I  believe  her  to  deserve  of  Mrs.  Charles.  The 
Queen  had  thought  Miss  Angerstein  was  dead.  Prom  this 
she  led  to  various  topics  of  our  former  conferences,  both  in 
persons  and  things,  and  gave  me  a  full  description  of  her 
new  house  at  Progmore,  its  fitting  up,  and  the  share  of  each 
Princess  in  its  decoration. 

She  spoke  with  delight  of  its  quiet  and  ease,  and  her  en- 
joyment of  its  complete  retirement.  "  I  spend,"  she  cried, 
"  there  almost  constantly  all  my  mornings.  I  rarely  come 
home  but  just  before  dinner,  merely  to  dress ;  but  to-day  I 
came  sooner."  This  was  said  in  a  manner  so  flattering,  I 
could  scarce  forbear  the  air  of  thanking  her ;  however,  I 
checked  the  expression,  though  I  could  not  the  inference 
which  urged  it. 


340  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

At  two  o'clock  the  Princess  Elizabeth  appeared.  "Is 
the  Princess  Eoyal  ready?"  said  the  Queen.  She  an 
swered  "  Yes,"  and  her  Majesty  then  told  me  I  might  go 
to  her,  adding,  "  You  know  the  way,  Madame  d'Arblay." 
And,  thus  licensed,  I  went  to  the  apartment  of  her  Pioyal 
Highness  upstairs.  She  was  just  quitting  it.  She  received 
ine  most  graciously,  and  told  me  she  was  going  to  sit  for 
her  picture,  if  I  would  come  and  stay  with  her  while  she 
sat.  Miss  Bab  Planta  was  in  attendance,  to  read  during 
this  period.  The  Princess  Eoyal  ordered  me  a  chair  facing 
her ;  and  another  for  Miss  Bab  and  her  book,  which,  how- 
ever, was  never  opened.  The  painter  was  Mr.  Dupont. 
She  Avas  very  gay  and  very  charming ;  full  of  lively  dis- 
course and  amiable  condescension. 

In  about  an  hour  the  Princess  Augusta  came  in :  she 
addressed  me  with  her  usual  sweetness,  and,  when  she  had 
looked  at  her  sister's  portrait,  said,  "Madame  d'Arblay, 
when  the  Princess  Ptoyal  can  spare  you,  I  hope  you  will 
come  to  me,"  as  she  left  the  room.  I  did  not  flout  her ; 
and  when  I  had  been  an  hour  with  the  Princess  Eoyal, 
she  told  me  she  would  keep  me  no  longer  from  Augusta, 
and  Miss  Planta  came  to  conduct  me  to  the  latter. 

This  lovely  Princess  received  me  quite  alone ;  Miss 
Planta  only  shut  me  in  ;  and  she  then  made  me  sit  by  her, 
and  kept  me  in  most  bewitching  discourse  more  than  an 
hour.  She  has  a  gaiety,  a  charm  about  her,  tliat  is  quite 
resistless  ;  and  much  of  true,  genuine,  and  very  original 
humor.  She  related  to  me  the  history  of  all  the  feats,  and 
exploits,  and  dangers,  and  escapes  of  her  brothers  during 
last  year ;  rejoicing  in  their  safety,  yet  softly  adding, 
"  Though  these  trials  and  difficulties  did  them  a  great  deal 
of  good."  We  talked  a  little  of  France,  and  slie  inquired 
of  me  what  I  knew  of  the  late  unliappy  Queen,  through  M. 
dArblay ;  and  spoke   of  her  with  the  most  virtuous   dis- 


1796.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  341 

crimination  between  her  foibles  and  lier  really  great  quali- 
ties, with  her  most  barbarons  end. 

She  then  dwelt  upon  Madame  Koyale,  saying,  in  her 
unaffected  manner,  "  It 's  very  odd  one  never  hears  what 
sort  of  girl  she  is."  I  told  her  all  I  had  gathered  from  M. 
d'Arblay.  She  next  spoke  of  my  Bambino,  indulging  me 
in  recounting  his  fails  et  gcstes  ;  and  never  moved  till  the 
Princess  Eoyal  came  to  summon  her.  They  were  all 
to  return  to  Frogmore  to  dinner.  "  We  have  detained 
Madame  d'Arblay  between  us  the  whole  morning,"  said 
the  Princess  Eoyal,  with  a  gracious  smile.  "  Yes,"  cried 
Princess  Augusta,  "  and  I  am  afraid  I  have  bored  her  to 
death ;  but  when  once  I  begin  upon  my  poor  brothers,  I 
can  never  stop  without  telling  all  my  little  bits  of  glory." 
She  then  outstayed  the  Princess  Royal,  to  tell  me  that, 
when  she  was  at  Plymouth,  at  church,  she  saw  so  many 
of&cers'  wives,  and  sisters,  and  mothers,  helping  their 
maimed  husbands,  or  brothers,  or  sons,  that  she  could  not 
forbear  whispering  to  the  Queen,  "  Mamma,  how  lucky  it 
is  Ernest  is  just  come  so  seasonably  with  that  wound  in 
his  face  !  I  should  have  been  quite  shocked,  else,  not  to 
have  had  one  little  bit  of  glory  among  ourselves  ! " 

When  forced  away  from  this  sweet  creature,  I  went  to 
Mile.  Jacobi,  who  said,  "  P)Ut  wdiere  is  M.  d'Arblay  ? " 
Finding  it  too  late  for  me  to  go  to  my  lodging  to  dress 
before  dinner,  I  wrote  him  a  word,  which  immediately 
brought  him  to  the  Queen's  Lodge  :  and  there  I  shall 
leave  my  dear  father  the  pleasure  of  seeing  us,  mentally, 
at  dinner,  at  my  ancient  table  —  both  invited  by  the 
Queen's  commands.  Miss  Gomme  was  asked  to  meet  me, 
and  the  repast  was  extremely  pleasant.  Just  before  we 
assembled  to  dinner,  j\Ille.  Jacobi  desired  to  speak  with 
me  alone  ;  and,  taking  me  to  another  room,  presented  me 
with  a  folded  packet,  saying,  "  The  Queen  ordered  me  to 


342  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

put  this  into  your  hands,  and  said,  '  Tell  Madame  d'Arblay 
it  is  from  us  both.'  "  It  was  a  hundred  guineas.  I  was  con- 
founded, and  nearly  sorry,  so  little  was  such  a  mark  of  their 
goodness  in  my  thoughts.  She  added  that  the  King,  as 
soon  as  he  came  from  the  chapel  in  the  morning,  went  to 
the  Queen's  dressing-room  just  before  he  set  out  for  the 
levee,  and  put  into  her  hands  fifty  guineas,  saying,  "  This 
is  for  my  set ! "  The  Queen  answered,  "  I  shall  do  exactly 
the  same  for  mine,"  and  made  up  the  packet  herself.  "  'T  is 
only,"  she  said,  "  for  the  paper,  tell  Madame  d'Arblay  — 
nothing  for  the  trouble  ! "  meaning  she  accepted  that. 

The  manner  of  this  was  so  more  than  gracious,  so  kind, 
in  the  words  ws  loth,  that  indeed  the  money  at  the  time 
was  quite  nothing  in  the  scale  of  my  gratification ;  it  was 
even  less,  for  it  almost  pained  me.  However,  a  delightful 
thought  that  in  a  few  minutes  occurred  made  all  light  and 
blithesome.  "  We  will  come,  then,"  I  cried,  "  once  a  year 
to  Windsor,  to  walk  the  Terrace,  and  see  the  King,  Queen, 
and  sweet  Princesses.  This  will  enable  us,  and  I  shall 
never  again  look  forward  to  so  long  a  deprivation  of  their 
sight."  This,  with  my  gratitude  for  their  great  goodness, 
was  wdiat  I  could  not  refrain  commissioning  her  to  report. 

Our  dinner  was  extremely  cheerful ;  all  my  old  friends 
were  highly  curious  to  see  M.  d'Arblay,  who  was  in  spirits, 
and,  as  he  could  address  them  in  French,  and  at  his  ease, 
did  not  seem  much  disapproved  of  by  them.  I  went  to 
my  lodging  afterwards  to  dress,  where  I  told  my  Monsieur 
this  last  and  unexpected  stroke,  which  gave  him  exactly 
my  sensations,  and  we  returned  to  tea.  We  had  hopes  of 
the  Terrace,  as  my  Monsieur  was  quite  eager  to  see  all 
this  beloved  Eoyal  House.  The  weather,  however,  was 
very  unpromising.  The  King  came  from  the  Lodge  during 
our  absence  ;  but  soon  after  we  were  in  the  levee  three 
Eoyal  coaches  arrived  from  Frogmore  :  in  the  first  was  the 


1796.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  343 

Queen,  the  Princesses  Eoyal  and  Augusta,  and  some  lady 
in  waiting.  ]M.  d'Arblay  stood  by  me  at  a  window  to  see 
them  ;  Her  Majesty  looked  up  and  bowed  to  me,  and,  upon 
her  alighting,  she  looked  up  again.  This,  I  am  sure,  was 
to  see  M.  d'Arblay,  who  could  not  be  doubted,  as  he  wore 
his  croix  the  whole  time  he  was  at  Windsor.  The  Prin- 
cesses bowed  also,  and  the  four  younger,  who  followed,  all 
severally  kissed  their  hands  to  me,  and  fixed  their  eyes  on 
my  companion  with  an  equal  expression  of  kindness  and 
curiosity  ;  he  therefore  saw  them  perfectly. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  page  came  to  say  "  The  Princesses 
desire  to  see  Madame  d'Arblay,"  and  he  conducted  me 
to  the  apartment  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  which  is  the 
most  elegantly  and  fancifully  ornamented  of  any  in  the 
Lodge,  as  she  has  most  delight  and  most  taste  in  pro- 
ducing good  effects. 

Here  the  fair  owner  of  the  chamber  received  me,  en- 
circled with  the  Princesses  Mary  and  Amelia,  and  no 
attendant.  They  were  exactly  as  I  had  left  them  —  kind, 
condescending,  open,  and  delightful,  and  the  goodness  of 
the  Queen,  in  sparing  them  all  to  me  thus,  without  any 
alloy  of  ceremony,  or  gene  of  listening  mutes,  I  felt  most 
deeply.  They  were  all  very  gay,  and  I  not  very  sad,  so 
we  enjoyed  a  perfectly  easy  and  even  merry  half-hour  in 
divers  discourses,  in  which  the}''  recounted  to  me  who  had 
been  most  anxious  about  "  the  book,"  and  doubted  not  its 
great  success,  as  everybody  was  so  eager  about  it.  "  And 
I  must  tell  you  one  thing,"  cried  the  Princess  Elizabeth ; 
"  the  King  is  very  much  pleased  with  the  dedication."  This 
was,  you  will  be  sure,  a  very  touching  hearing  to  me  ;  and 
Princess  Mary  exclaimed,  "  And  he  is  very  difficult ! " 

"O,  yes,  he's  hardly  ever  pleased  with  a  dedication," 
cried  one  of  the  Princesses.  "  He  almost  always  thinks 
them  so  fulsome." 


344  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

"  I  was  resolved  I  would  tell  it  you,"  cried  the  Princess 
Elizabeth.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  amiable  than 
this  pleasure  in  giving  pleasure  ? 

I  now  explained  that  politics  were  always  left  out ;  that 
once  I  had  had  an  idea  of  bringing  in  such  as  suited  me, 
but  that,  upon  second  thoughts,  I  returned  to  my  more 
native  opinion  that  they  were  not  a  feminine  subject  for 
discussion,  and  that  1  even  believed,  should  the  little  work 
sufficiently  succeed  to  be  at  all  generally  read,  it  woidd  be 
a  better  office  to  general  readers  to  carry  them  wide  of  all 
politics  to  their  domestic  firesides,  than  to  open  new  matter 
of  endless  debate. 

Soon  after  the  Princess  Augusta  came  in,  smiling  and 
lovely.  Princess  Eoyal  next  appeared  ;  Princess  Augusta 
sat  down  and  charged  me  to  take  a  chair  next  her.  Prin- 
cess Eoyal  did  not  stay  long,  and  soon  returned  to  summon 
her  sister  Augusta  downstairs,  as  the  concert  was  begun ; 
biit  she  replied  she  could  not  come  yet ;  and  the  Princess 
Royal  went  alone.  We  had  really  a  most  delicious  chat 
then. 

They  made  a  thousand  inquiries  about  my  book,  and 
when  and  where  it  was  written,  &c.,  and  how  I  stood  as  to 
fright  and  fidget.  I  answered  all  with  openness,  and 
frankly  related  my  motives  for  the  publication.  Everything 
of  housekeeping,  I  told  them,  was  nearly  doubled  in  price 
at  the  end  of  the  first  year  and  a  half  of  our  marriage, 
and  we  found  it  impossible  to  continue  so  near  our  friends 
and  the  Capital  with  our  limited  income,  though  M.  dA. 
had  accommodated  himself  completely,  and  even  happily, 
to  every  species  of  economy,  and  though  my  dearest 
father  had  assisted  us ;  I  then,  therefore,  determined  upon 
adopting  a  plan  I  had  formerly  rejected,  of  publishing 
by  subscription.  I  told  them  the  former  history  of 
that   plan,   as    Mr.    Burke's,  and    many    particulars   that 


3796.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  345 

seemed  extremely  to  interest  them.  My  garden,  our  way 
of  life,  our  house,  our  Bambino  —  all  were  inquired  after 
and  related.  I  repeatedly  told  them  the  strong  desire  M. 
d'Arblay  had  to  be  regaled  with  a  sight  of  all  their  House 
—  a  House  to  which  I  stood  so  every  way  indebted  —  and 
they  looked  kindly  concerned  that  the  weather  admitted 
no  prospect  of  the  Terrace. 

I  mentioned  to  the  Princess  Augusta  my  recent  new  ob- 
ligation to  their  Majesties,  and  my  amaze  and  even  shame 
at  their  goodness.  "  0,  I  am  sure,"  cried  she,  "  they  were 
veiy  happy  to  have  it  in  their  power." 

"  Yes,  and  we  were  so  glad  !  " 

"  So  glad  !  "  echoed  each  of  the  others. 

"  How  enchanted  should  I  have  been,"  cried  I,  "  to  have 
presented  my  little  book  to  each  of  your  Eoyal  Highnesses 
if  I  had  dared  !  or  if,  after  her  Majesty  has  looked  it  over, 
I  might  hope  for  such  a  permission,  how  proud  and  how 
happy  it  would  make  me !  " 

"  0,  I  daresay  you  may,"  cried  the  Princess  Augusta, 
eagerly. 

I  then  intimated  how  deeply  I  should  feel  such  an  honor, 
if  it  might  be  asked,  after  her  Majesty  had  read  it ;  and 
the  Princess  Elizabeth  gracefully  undertook  the  office. 
She  related  to  me,  in  a  most  pleasant  manner,  the  whole 
of  her  own  transaction,  its  rise  and  cause  and  progress,  in 
"  The  Birth  of  Love  :  "  ^  but  I  must  here  abridge,  or  never 
have  done.  I  told  them  all  my  scheme  for  coming  again 
next  July,  which  they  sweetly  seconded.  Princess  Amelia 
assured  me  she  had  not  forgotten  me ;  and  when  another 
summons  came  for  the  concert.  Princess  Augusta,  comically 
sitting  still  and  holding  me  by  her  side,  called  out,."  Do 
you  little  ones  go  !  "     But  they  loitered  also  ;  and  we  w'ent 

1  "The  Birth  of  Love  ;"  a  Poem  :  with  engi-avings,  from  designs  by 
Her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 


346  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

on,  on,  on,  with  our  chat  —  they  as  unwilling  as  myself  to 
break  it  up  —  till  staying  longer  was  impossible ;  and 
then,  in  parting,  they  all  expressed  the  kindest  pleasure  in 
our  newly-adopted  plan  of  a  yearly  visit. 

"  And  pray,"  cried  Princess  Elizabeth,  "  write  again  im- 
mediately ! " 

"  0,  no,"  cried  Princess  Augusta,  "  wait  half  a  year  —  to 
rest ;  and  then  —  increase  your  family  —  all  xoays  ! " 

"  The  Queen,"  said  Princess  Elizabeth,  "  consulted  me 
which  way  she  should  read  '  Camilla  ; '  whether  quick,  at 
once,  or  comfortably  at  Weymouth  :  so  I  answered,  '  Why. 
mamma,  I  think,  as  you  will  be  so  much  interested  in  the 
book,  Madame  dArblay  would  be  most  pleased  you  should 
read  it  now  at  once,  quick,  that  nobody  may  be  mentioning 
the  events  before  you  come  to  them  ;  and  then  again  at 
Weymouth,  slow  and  comfortably.'  " 

In  going,  the  sweet  Princess  Augusta  loitered  last  but 
her  youngest  sister,  Amelia,  who  came  to  take  my  hand 
when  the  rest  were  departed,  and  assure  me  she  should 
never  forget  me. 

We  spent  the  remnant  of  Wednesday  evening  with  my 
old  friends,  determining  to  quit  Windsor  the  next  day,  if 
the  weather  did  not  promise  a  view  of  the  Eoyal  Family 
upon  the  Terrace  for  M.  d'Arblay. 

Thursday  morning  was  lowering,  and  we  determined 
upon  departing,  after  only  visiting  some  of  my  former 
acquaintances.  We  met  Miss  Planta  in  our  way  to  the 
Lodge,  and  took  leave ;  but  when  we  arrived  at  Mile. 
Jacobi's  we  found  that  the  Queen  expected  we  should  stay 
for  the  chance  of  the  Terrace,  and  had  told  Mile.  Jacobi  to 
again  invite  us  to  dinner. 

We  left  the  friendly  Miss  Goldsworthy  for  other  visits: 
—  first  to  good  pld  Mrs.  Planta ;  next  to  the  very  respecta- 


1796.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  347 

ble  Dr.  Fislier  and  his  wife.  The  former  insisted  upon 
doing  the  honors  himself  of  St.  George's  Cathedral  to  M. 
d'Arblay,  which  occasioned  his  seeing  that  beautiful  an- 
tique building  to  the  utmost  advantage.  Dr.  Fisher  then 
accompanied  us  to  a  spot  to  show  M.  d'Arblay  Eton  in  the 
best  view. 

Dinner  passed  as  before,  but  the  evening  lowered,  and  all 
hopes  of  the  Terrace  were  weak,  when  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  York  arrived.  This  seemed  to  determine 
against  us,  as  they  told  us  the  Duchess  never  went  upon 
the  Terrace  but  in  the  finest  weather,  and  the  Eoyal  Family 
did  not  choose  to  leave  her.  We  were  hesitating  therefore 
whether  to  set  off  for  Rose  Dale,  when  Mile.  Jacobi  gave 
an  intimation  to  me  that  the  King,  herself,  and  the  Princess 
Amelia,  would  walk  on  the  Terrace. 

Thither  instantly  we  hastened,  and  were  joined  by  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Fisher.  The  evening  wa?  so  raw  and  cold  that 
there  was  very  little  company,  and  scarce  any  expectation 
of  the  Eoyal  Family ;  and  when  we  had  been  there  about 
half  an  hour  the  musicians  retreated,  and  everybody  w^as 
preparing  to  follow,  when  a  messenger  suddenly  came  for- 
ward, belter  skelter,  running  after  the  horns  and  clarionets, 
and  hallooing  to  them  to  return.  This  brought  back  the 
straggling  parties,  and  the  King,  Duke  of  York,  and  six 
Princesses  soon  appeared. 

I  have  never  yet  seen  M.  d'Arblay  agitated  as  at  this 
moment ;  he  could  scarce  keep  his  steadiness,  or  even  his 
ground.  The  recollections,  he  has  since  told  me,  that  rushed 
upon  his  mind  of  his  own  King  and  Royal  House  were 
so  violent  and  so  painful  as  almost  to  disorder  him.  His 
Majesty  was  accompanied  by  the  Duke,  and  Lord  Beaulieu, 
Lord  Walsingham,  and  General  Manners ;  the  Princesses 
were  attended  by  Lady  Charlotte  Bruce,  some  other  lady, 
and  Miss  Goldsworthy.     The  King  stopped  to  speak  to  the 


348  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

Bishop  of  Norwicli  and  some  others  at  the  entrance,  and 
then  walked  on  towards  us,  who  were  at  the  further  end. 
As  he  approached,  the  Princess  Eoyal  said,  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  by  Mrs.  Fisher,  "Madame  d'Arblay,  sir;"  and  in- 
stantly he  came  on  a  step,  and  then  stopped  and  addressed 
me,  and,  after  a  word  or  two  of  the  weather,  he  said,  "  Is 
that  M.  d'Arblay  ? "  and  most  graciously  bowed  to  him,  and 
entered  into  a  little  conversation  ;  demanding  how  long  he 
had  been  in  England,  how  long  in  the  country,  &c.,  &c., 
and  with  a  sweetness,  an  air  of  wishing  us  well,  that  will 
never,  never  be  erased  from  our  hearts. 

M.  d'Arblay  recovered  himself  immediately  upon  this  ad- 
dress, and  answered  with  as  much  firmness  as  respect. 

Upon  the  King's  bowing  and  leaving  us,  the  Comman- 
der-in-Chief most  courteously  bowed  also  to  M.  d'Arblay, 
and  the  Princesses  all  came  up  to  speak  to  me,  and  to  curt- 
sey to  him :  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth  cried,  "  I  've  got 
leave  !  and  mamma  says  she  won't  wait  to  read  it  first ! " 
After  this  the  King  and  Duke  never  passed  without  taking 
off  their  hats,  and  the  Princesses  gave  me  a  smile  and  a 
curtsey  at  every  turn  :  Lord  Walsingham  came  to  speak  to 
me,  and  Mr.  Fairly,  and  General  Manners,  who  regretted 
that  more  of  our  old  tea-party  were  not  there  to  meet  me 
once  more.  As  soon  as  they  all  re-entered  the  Lodge,  we 
followed  to  take  leave  of  Mile.  Jacobi ;  but,  upon  moving 
towards  the  passage,  the  Princess  Royal  appeared,  saying, 
"  Madame  d'Arblay,  I  come  to  waylay  you ! "  and  made 
me  follow  her  to  the  dressing-room,  whence  the  voice  of 
the  Queen,  as  the  door  opened,  called  out,  in  mild  accents, 
"  Come  in,  Madame  d'Arblay  ! " 

Her  Majesty  was  seated  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
with  the  Duchess  of  York  on  her  right,  and  the  Princesses 
Sophia  and  Amelia  on  her  left.  She  made  me  advance, 
and  said,  "I  have  just  been  telling  the  Duchess  of  York 


1796.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  349 

that  I  find  her  Eoyal  Highness's  name  the  first  upon  this 
list,"  producing  "  Camilla." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Duchess,  bowing  to  me,  "  I  was  so 
very  impatient  to  read  it,  I  could  not  but  try  to  get  it  as 
early  as  possible.     I  am  very  eager  for  it,  indeed  ! " 

"  I  have  read,"  said  the  Queen,  "  but  fifty  pages  yet ;  but 
I  am  in  great  uneasiness  for  that  poor  little  girl,  that  I  am 
afraid  will  get  the  small  pox !  and  I  am  sadly  afraid  that 
sweet  little  other  girl  will  not  keep  her  fortune !  but  I 
won't  peep !  I  read  quite  fair.  But  I  must  tell  Madame 
d'Arblay  I  know  a  country  gentleman,  in  Mecklenburg,  ex- 
actly the  very  character  of  that  good  old  man  the  uncle  ! " 
She  seemed  to  speak  as  if  delighted  to  meet  him  upon 
paper. 

The  King  now  came  in,  and  I  could  not  forbear  making 
up  to  him,  to  pour  forth  some  part  of  my  full  heart  for  his 
goodness  !  He  tried  to  turn  away,  but  it  was  smilingly ; 
and  I  had  courage  to  pursue  him,  for  I  could  not  help  it. 
He  then  slightly  bowed  it  off,  and  asked  the  Queen  to  re- 
peat what  she  had  said  upon  the  book. 

"  0,  your  Majesty,"  she  cried,  "  I  must  not  anticipate  !  " 
yet  told  him  of  her  pleasure  in  finding  an  old  acquaintance. 

"  Well !  "  cried  the  King  archly,  "  and  what  other  char- 
acters have  you  seized  ? "     None,  I  protested,  from  life. 

"  0  !"  cried  he,  shaking  his  head, "  you  must  have  some  ! " 

"Indeed  your  Majesty  will  fiud.none!"  I  cried. 

"  But  they  may  be  a  little  better,  or  a  little  worse,"  he 
answered ;  "  but  still,  if  they  are  not  like  somebody,  how 
can  they  play  their  parts  ?  "  "  0,  yes,  sir,"  I  cried,  "  as  far 
as  general  nature  goes,  or  as  characters  belong  to  classes,  I 
have  certainly  tried  to  take  them.     But  no  individuals  ! " 

My  account  must  be  endless  if  I  do  not  now  curtail. 

The  Duke  of  York,  the  other  Princesses,  General  Man- 
ners, and  all  the  rest  of  the  group,  made  way  to  the  room 


350  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

soon  after,  upon  hearing  the  cheerfulness  of  the  voice  of  the 
King,  whose  graciousness  raised  me  into  spirits  that  set  me 
quite  at  my  ease.  He  talked  much  upon  the  book,  and 
then  of  Mrs.  Delany,  and  then  of  various  others  that  my 
sight  brought  to  his  recollection,  and  all  with  a  freedom 
and  goodness  that  enabled  me  to  answer  without  difficulty 
or  embarrassment,  and  that  produced  two  or  three  hearty 
laughs  from  the  Duke  of  York. 

While  this  was  passing,  the  Princess  Koyal  had  repaired 
to  the  apartment  of  Mile.  Jacobi,  where  she  had  held  a 
little  conversation  with  M.  d'Arblay. 

We  finished  the  evening  very  cheerfully  with  Mile.  Ja- 
cobi and  Mile.  Montmoulin,  whom  she  invited  to  meet  us, 
and  the  next  morning  left  Windsor.  At  a  little  before 
eleven  we  arrived  at  our  dear  cottage,  and  to  our  sleeping 
Bambino.  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Dr.  Burney. 

BooKHAM,  Friday,  October,  1796. 

■  How  well  I  know  and  feel  the  pang  of  this  cruel  day 
to  my  beloved  father.^  My  heart  seems  visiting  him  almost 
every  minute  in  grief  and  participation ;  yet  I  was  happy 
to  see  it  open  with  a  smiling  aspect,  and  encourage  a 
superstition  of  hoping  it  portentous  of  a  good  conclusion. 

I  am  almost  afraid  to  ask  how  my  poor  mother  bore  the 
last  farewell.  Indeed,  I  hope  she  was  virtuously  cheated 
of  a  leave-taking.  I  advised  Susan  to  avoid  it  if  possible, 
as  the  parting  impression  would  be  lighter  by  such  man- 
agement ;  and,  much  as  she  is  recovered  from  her  very 
terrible  state,  she  cannot  be  too  cautious  of  emotions  of 

1  In  reference  to  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Phillips  and  her  children  for 
Ireland. 


1796.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  351 

almost  any  sort,  much  less  of  such  a  separation.  Our  sor- 
row, however,  here,  has  been  very  considerably  diminished 
by  the  Major's  voluntary  promises  to  Mrs.  Locke  of  certain 
and  speedy  return.  I  shall  expect  him  at  the  peace  —  not 
before.  I  cannot  think  it  possible  he  should  appear  here 
during  the  war,  except,  as  now,  merely  to  fetch  his  family. 

But  I  meant  to  have  begun  with  our  thanks  for  my  dear 
kind  father's  indulgence  of  our  extreme  curiosity  and  in- 
terest in  the  sight  of  the  reviews.  I  am  quite  happy  in 
what  I  have  escaped  of  greater  severity,  though  my  mate 
cannot  bear  that  the  palm  should  be  contested  by  "  Eve- 
lina "  and  "  Cecilia ; "  his  partiality  rates  the  last  as  so 
much  the  highest ;  so  does  the  newspaper  I  have  men- 
tioned, of  which  I  long  to  send  you  a  copy.  But  those 
immense  men,  whose  single  praise  was  fame  and  security 
—  who  established,  by  a  word,  the  two  elder  sisters  —  are 
now  silent.  Dr.  Johnson  and  Sir  Joshua  are  no  more,  and 
Mr.  Burke  is  ill,  or  otherwise  engrossed ;  yet  even  without 
their  powerful  influence,  to  which  I  owe  such  unspeakable 
obligation,  the  essential  success  of  "  Camilla  "  exceeds  that 
of  the  elders.  The  sale  is  truly  astonishing.  Charles  has 
just  sent  to  me  that  five  hundred  only  remain  of  four  thou- 
sand, and  it  has  appeared  scarcely  three  months. 

The  first  edition  of  "  Evelina  "  was  of  eight  hundred,  the 
second  of  five  hundred,  and  the  third  of  a  thousand.  What 
the  following  have  been  I  have  never  heard.  The  sale 
from  that  period  became  more  flourishing  than  the  pub- 
lisher cared  to  announce.  Of  "  Cecilia  "  the  first  edition 
was  reckoned  enormous  at  two  thousand  ;  and  as  a  part  of 
the  payment  was  reserved  for  it,  I  remember  our  dear 
Daddy  Crisp  thought  it  very  unfair.  It  was  printed,  like 
this,  in  July,  and  sold  in  October,  to  every  one's  wonder. 
Here,  however,  the  sale  is  increased  in  rapidity  more  than 
a  third.     Charles  says  — 


352  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1796. 

"  Now  heed  no  more  what  critics  thought  'em, 
Since  this  you  know,  all  people  bought  'em." 

We  have  resumed  our  original  plan,  and  are  going  imme- 
diately to  build  a  little  cottage  for  ourselves.  We  shall 
make  it  as  small  and  as  cheap  as  will  accord  with  its  being 
warm  and  comfortable.  We  have  relinquished,  however, 
the  very  kind  offer  of  Mr.  Locke,  whicli  he  has  renewed, 
for  his  park.  We  mean  to  make  this  a  property  salable 
or  letable  for  our  Alex.,  and  in  Mr.  Locke's  park  we  could 
not  encroach  any  tenant,  if  the  youth's  circumstances,  pro- 
fession, or  inclination  should  make  him  not  choose  the  spot 
for  his  own  residence.  M.  d'Arblay,  therefore,  has  fixed 
upon  a  field  of  Mr.  Locke's,  which  he  will  rent,  and  of 
which  Mr.  Locke  will  grant  him  a  lease  of  ninety  years. 
By  this  means,  we  shall  leave  the  little  Alex,  a  little  prop- 
erty, besides  what  will  be  in  the  funds,  and  a  property 
likely  to  rise  in  value,  as  the  situation  of  the  field  is  re- 
markably beautiful.  It  is  in  the  valley,  between  Mr. 
Locke's  park  and  Dorking,  and  where  land  is  so  scarce, 
that  there  is  not  another  possessor  wdthin  many  miles  who 
would  part,  upon  any  terms,  with  half  an  acre.  My  kind- 
est father  will  come  and  give  it,  I  trust,  his  benediction.  I 
am  now  almost  jealous  of  Bookham  for  having  received  it. 

Imagine  but  the  ecstasy  of  M.  d'Arblay  in  training,  all 
his  own  way,  an  entire  new  garden.  He  dreams  now  of 
cabbage- walks,  potato-beds,  bean-perfumes,  and  peas-blos- 
soms. My  mother  should  send  him  a  little  sketch  to  help 
his  flower-garden,  which  will  be  his  second  favorite  object. 

Alex,  has  made  no  progress  in  phrases,  but  pronounces 
single  words  a  few  more.     Adieu,  most  dear  sir. 

r.  d'A. 


1796,]  OF   MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  353 

Madame  df  Arblay  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

1796. 

You  are  too  good,  my  dearest  friend,  almost  literally  too 
good  ;  which,  you  know,  like  all  extremes,  is  naught. 

My  mate  wants  to  send  you  a  daisy,  but  says  he  will 
can-y  it.  "WTiat  can  I  send  you  ?  Only  what  you  have  got 
already,  which  is  very  Irish,  for  I  have  but  my  old  heart, 
with  not  one  new  thing  in  it  for  you  these  many  years. 

I  have  had  this  morning  a  letter  that  has  quite  melted 
me  with  grateful  sensations,  written  by  command.  I  will 
show  it  you  when  these  eternal  rains  will  take  a  little 
rest. 

A  private  letter  from  Windsor  tells  me  the  Prince  of  AVur- 
temberg  has  much  pleased  in  the  Eoyal  House,  by  his  man- 
ners and  address  upon  his  interview ;  but  that  the  poor 
Princess  Royal  was  almost  dead  with  terror,  and  agitation, 
and  affright,  at  the  first  meeting.  She  could  not  utter  a 
word.  The  Queen  was  obliged  to  speak  her  answers.  The 
Prince  said  lie  hoped  this  first  would  be  the  last  disturb- 
ance his  presence  would  ever  occasion  her.  She  then  tried 
to  recover,  and  so  far  conquered  her  tumult  as  to  attempt 
joining  in  a  general  discourse  from  time  to  time.  He  paid 
his  court  successfully,  I  am  told,  to  the  sisters,  who  all 
determine  to  like  him ;  and  the  Princess  Royal  is  quite 
revived  in  her  spirits  again,  now  this  tremendous  opening 
sight  is  over. 

You  will  be  pleased,  and  my  dearest  Mr.  Locke,  at  the 
style  of  my  summons  :  't  is  so  openly  from  the  Queen  her- 
self. Indeed,  she  has  behaved  like  an  angel  to  me,  from 
the  trying  time  to  her  of  my  marriage  with  a  Frenchman. 
"  So  odd,  you  know,"  as  Lady  Inchiquin  said. 

F.  D'A. 

VOL.  II.  23 


354  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1796. 


Madame  cVArhlay  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

BooKHAM,  November  7,  1796. 

Yes,  my  beloved  Susan  safe  landed  at  Dublin  was  indeed 
all-sufficient  for  some  time  ;  nor,  indeed,  could  1  even  read 
any  more  for  many  minutes.  That,  and  the  single  sen- 
tence at  the  end,  "  My  Norbury  is  with  me,"  —  completely 
overset  me,  though  only  with  joy.  After  your  actual  safety, 
nothing  could  so  much  touch  me  as  the  picture  I  instantly 
viewed  of  Norbury  in  your  arms.  Yet  I  shall  hope  for 
more  detail  hereafter. 

The  last  letter  I  had  from  you  addressed  to  myself  shows 
me  your  own  sentiment  of  the  fatal  event  ^  which  so  speed- 
ily followed  your  departure,  and  which  my  dear  father  has 
himself  announced  to  you,  though  probably  the  newspapers 
will  anticipate  his  letter.  I  am  very  sorry,  now,  I  did  not 
write  sooner  ;  but  while  you  were  still  in  England,  and 
travelling  so  slowly,  I  had  always  lurking  ideas  that  dis- 
qualified me  from  writing  to  Ireland. 

The  minute  I  received,  from  Sally,  by  our  dearest  father's 
desire,  the  last  tidings,  I  set  out  for  Chelsea.  I  was  much 
shocked  by  the  news,  long  as  it  has  been  but  natural  to 
look  forward  to  it.  My  better  part  spoke  even  before  my- 
self upon  the  propriety  of  my  instant  journey,  and  promised 
me  a  faithful  nursing  attendance  during  my  absence.  I 
went  in  a  chaise,  to  lose  no  time ;  but  the  uncertainty  how 
I  might  find  my  poor  father  made  me  arrive  with  a  nervous 
seizure  upon  my  voice  that  rendered  it  as  husky  as  Mr. 
itishton's. 

While  I  settled  with  the  postilion,  Sally,  James,  Char- 
lotte, and  Marianne,  came  to  me.     Esther  and  Charles  had 
been  there  the  preceding  day  ;  they  were  sent  to  as  soon 
as  the  event  had  happened.     My  dearest  father  received 
1  The  death  of  Dr.  Burney's  second  wife. 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  355 

me  with  extreme  kindness,  but  though  far,  far  more  calm 
and  quiet  than  I  coukl  expect,  he  was  much  shaken,  and 
often  very  faint.  However,  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
he  suffered  me  to  read  to  him  various  passages  from  various 
books,  sucli  as  conversation  introduced ;  and,  as  his  nature 
is  as  pure  from  affectation  as  from  falsehood,  encouraged 
in  himself,  as  well  as  permitted  in  us,  whatever  could  lead 
to  cheerfulness. 

Let  me  not  forget  to  record  one  thing  that  was  truly 
generous  in  my  poor  mother's  last  voluntary  exertions. 
She  charged  Sally  and  her  maid  both  not  to  call  my  father 
when  she  appeared  to  be  dying ;  and  not  disturti  liim  i 
her  death  should  happen  in  the  night,  nor  to  let  him  hear 
it  till  he  arose  at  his  usual  time.  I  feel  sensibly  the  kind- 
ness of  this  sparing  consideration  and  true  feeling. 

Yet,  not  so  would  I  be  served  !  0  never  should  I  forgive 
the  misjudged  prudence  that  should  rob  me  of  one  little 
instant  of  remaining  life  in  one  who  was  truly  dear  to  me  ! 
iSTevertheless,  I  shall  not  be  surprised  to  have  his  first 
shock  succeeded  by  a  sorrow  it  did  not  excite,  and  I  fear 
he  will  require  much  watching  and  vigilance  to  be  kept  as 
well  as  I  have  quitted  him.  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Mrs.  Burney. 

April  3,  '97. 
Launcelot Gobbo — or  Gobbo  Launcelot — was  nevermore 
cruelly  tormented  by  the  struggles  between  his  conscience 
and  the  fiend  than  I  between  mine  and  the  pen.  Says 
my  conscience,  "  Tell  dear  Etty  you  liave  conquered  one  of 
your  worst  fears  for  your  little  pet."  Says  my  pen,  "  She 
will  have  heard  it  at  Chelsea."  Says  my  conscience,  "  She 
knows  what  you  must  have  suffered,  call,  therefore,  for  her 


356  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

congratulations."  Says  my  pen,  "  I  am  certain  of  her  sym- 
pathy ;  and  the  call  will  be  only  a  trouble  to  her."  Says 
my  conscience,  "  Are  you  sure  this  is  not  a  delicate  device 
to  spare  yourself  ?  "  Says  my  pen,  "  Mr.  Conscience,  you 
are  a  terrible  bore.  I  have  thought  so  all  my  life,  for  one 
odd  quirk  or  another  that  you  are  always  giving  people 
when  once  you  get  possession  of  them,  never  letting  them 
have  their  own  way,  unless  it  happens  to  be  just  to  your 
liking,  but  pinching  and  grating  and  snarling,  and  causing 
bad  dreams,  for  every  little  private  indulgence  they  pre- 
sume to  take  without  consulting  you.  There  is  not  a  more 
troublesome  inmate  to  be  found.  Always  meddling  and 
making,  and  poking  your  nose  into  everybody's  concerns. 
Here 's  me,  for  example ;  I  can't  be  four  or  five  months 
without  answering  a  letter,  but  what  you  give  me  as  many 
twitches  as  if  I  had  committed  murder;  and  often  and 
often  you  have  consumed  me  more  time  in  apologies,  and 
cost  me  more  plague  in  repentance,  than  would  have  suf- 
ficed for  the  most  exact  punctuality.  So  that  either  one 
must  lead  the  life  of  a  slave  in  studying  all  your  humors, 
or  be  used  worse  than  a  dog  for  following  one's  own.  I  tell 
you,  Mr.  Conscience,  you  are  an  inconceivable  bore." 

Thus  they  go  on,  wrangling  and  jangling,  at  so  indecent 
a  rate  I  can  get  no  rest  for  them  —  one  urging  you  would 
like  to  hear  from  myself  something  of  an  event  so  deeply 
interesting  to  my  happiness ;  the  other  assuring  me  of  the 
pardon  of  perfect  coincidence  in  my  aversion  to  epistolary 
exertion.  And  hitherto,  I  have  listened,  whether  I  w^ould 
or  not,  to  one,  and  yielded,  whether  I  would  or  not,  to  the 
other.  And  how  long  the  contest  might  yet  have  endured 
I  know  not,  if  Mrs.  Locke  had  not  told  me,  yesterday,  she 
should  have  an  opportunity  of  forwarding  some  letters  to 
town  to-morrow.     So  now  — 

"  I  wish  you  were  further ! "  I  hear  you  cry ;  so  now 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  357 

you  get  out  of  your  difficulties  just  to  make  me  get  into 
them. 

"  But  consider,  my  dear  Esther,  the  small-pox  —  " 

"  I  have  considered  it  at  least  six  times,  in  all  its  stages, 
Heaven  help  me  ! " 

"  But  then  so  sweet  a  bantling  !  —  " 

"  I  have  half  a  dozen,  every  one  of  which  would  make 
three  of  him." 

I  was  interrupted  in  this  my  pathetic  appeal,  and  now  I 
must  finish  off-hand,  or  lose  my  conveyance. 

I  entreat,  whenever  you  see  Mrs.  Chapone,  you  will  pre- 
sent my  affectionate  respects  to  her,  and  ask  if  she  re- 
ceived a  long  letter  I  directed  to  her  in  Francis  Street. 

F.  D'A. 


Madame  d' Arblay  to  Mrs.  Francis. 

West  Hamble,  November  16tli,  1797. 

Your  letter  was  most  welcome  to  me,  my  dearest  Char- 
lotte, and  I  am  delighted  Mr.  Broome  and  my  dear  father 
will  so  speedily  meet.  If  they  steer  clear  of  politics,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  their  immediate  exchange  of  regard 
and  esteem.  At  all  events,  I  depend  upon  Mr.  B.'s  for- 
bearance of  such  subjects,  if  their  opinions  clash.  Pray 
let  me  hear  how  the  interview  went  off. 

I  need  not  say  how  I  shall  rejoice  to  see  you  again,  nor 
how  charmed  we  shall  both  be  to  make  a  nearer  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Broome;  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear 
girl,  how  are  we  to  give  him  a  dinner  ?  —  unless  he  will 
bring  with  him  his  poultry,  for  ours  are  not  yet  arrived 
from  Bookham ;  and  his  fish,  for  ours  are  still  at  the  bot- 
tom of  some  pond  we  know  not  where ;  and  his  spit,  for 
our  jack  is  yet  without  one ;  and  his  kitchen  grate,  for 
ours   waits  for  Count  Eumford's   next  pamphlet ;  not  to 


358  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

mention  his  table-linen  ;  —  and  not  to  speak  of  his  knives 
and  forks,  some  ten  of  our  poor  original  twelve  having- 
been  massacred  in  M.  d'Arblay's  first  essays  in  the  art  of 
carpentering ;  —  and  to  say  nothing  of  his  large  spoons, 
the  silver  of  our  plated  ones  having  feloniously  made  off 
under  cover  of  the  whitening-brush ;  —  and  not  to  talk  of 
his  cook,  ours  being  not  yet  hired ;  —  and  not  to  start  the 
subject  of  wine,  ours,  by  some  odd  accident,  still  remain- 
ing at  the  wine-merchant's ! 

•  With  all  these  impediments,  however,  so  convivial  hilar- 
ity, if  he  will  eat  a  quarter  of  a  joint  of  meat  (his  share, 
I  mean),  tied  up  by  a  packthread,  and  roasted  by  a  log  of 
wood  on  the  bricks,  —  and  declare  no  potatoes  so  good  as 
those  dug  by  M.  d'Arblay  out  of  our  garden  —  and  pro- 
test our  small  beer  gives  the  spirits  of  champagne  —  and 
make  no  inquiries  where  we  have  deposited  the  hops  he 
will  conclude  we  have  emptied  out  of  our  table-cloth  — 
and  pronounce  that  bare  walls  are  superior  to  tapestry  —  and 
promise  us  the  first  sight  of  his  epistle  upon  visiting  a 
new-built  cottage  —  we  shall  be  sincerely  happy  to  receive 
him  in  our  Hermitage;  where  I  hope  to  learn,  for  my 
dearest  Charlotte's  sake,  to  love  him  as  much  as,  for  his 
own,  I  have  very  long  admired  him. 

Manage  all  this,  my  dear  girl,  but  let  us  know  the  day, 
as  we  have  resumed  our  Norbury  Park  excursions,  where 
we  were  yesterday.  God  bless  you,  my  love,  and  grant 
that  your  happiness  may  meet  my  wishes  !  Ever  and  ever 
yours  most  affectionately,  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

West  Hamble,  December,  '97. 
This  moment  I  received,  through  our  dearest  friend,  my 
own  Susanna's  letter.     I  grieve  to  find  she  ever  waits  anx- 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  359 

iously  for  news ;  but  always  imagine  all  things  essential 
■perpetually  travelling  to  her,  from  so  many  of  our  house, 
all  in  nearly  constant  correspondence  with  her.  This  leads 
me  to  rest  quiet  as  to  her,  when  I  do  not  write  more  fre- 
quently; but  as  to  myself,  when  I  do  not  hear  I  am  saddened 
even  here,  even  in  my  own  new  paradise, —  for  such  I  confess 
it  is  to  me ;  and  were  my  beloved  Susan  on  this  side  the 
Channel,  and  could  I  see  her  dear  face,  and  fold  her  to  my 
breast,  I  think  I  should  set  about  wishing  nothing  but  to 
continue  just  so.  For  circumstances  —  pecuniary  ones  I 
mean  —  never  have  power  to  distress  me,  unless  I  fear  ex- 
ceeding their  security  ;  and  that  fear  these  times  will  some- 
times inflict.  The  new  threefold  assessment  of  taxes  has 
terrified  us  rather  seriously :  though  the  necessity,  and 
therefore  justice  of  them,  we  mutually  feel.  My  father 
thinks  his  own  share  will  amount  to  £80  a  year !  We 
have,  this  very  morning,  decided  upon  parting  with  four  of 
our  new  windows,  —  a  great  abatement  of  agrdmens  to  our- 
selves, and  of  ornament  to  our  appearance ;  and  a  still 
greater  sacrifice  to  I'amour  propre  of  my  architect,  who, 
indeed,  —  his  fondness  for  his  edifice  considered,  —  does 
not  ill  deserve  praise  that  the  scheme  had  not  his  mere  con- 
sent, but  his  own  free  proposition. 

Your  idea  that  my  builder  was  not  able  to  conduct  us 
hither,  I  thank  God,  is  unfounded.  His  indiscretion  was 
abominable,  but  so  characteristic  that  I  will  tell  it  you. 
Some  little  time  before,  he  brought  me  home  a  dog,  a  young 
thing,  he  said,  which  had  hit  his  fancy  at  Ewell,  where  he 
had  been  visiting  M.  Bourdois,  and  that  we  should  educate 
it  for  our  new  house-guard.  It  is  a  larhette,  and,  as  it  was 
not  perfectly  precise  in  cleanliness,  it  was  destined  to  a 
kitchen  residence  till  it  should  be  trained  for  the  parlor ; 
this,  however,  far  from  being  resented  by  the  young  stranger 
as  an  indignity,  appeared  to  be  still  rather  too  superb ;  for 


360  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

"  Muff "  betook  to  the  coal-hole,  and  there  seemed  to  re- 
pose with  native  ease.  The  purchaser,  shocked  at  the 
rueful  appearance  of  the  curled  coat,  and  perhaps  piqued 
by  a  few  flippancies  upon  the  delicacy  of  my  present,  re- 
solved one  night  to  prepare  me  a  divine  surprise  the  fol- 
lowing morning  ;  and,  when  I  retired  to  my  downy  pillow 
at  eleven  o'clock,  upon  a  time  severely  cold,  he  walked 
forth  with  the  unfortunate  delinquent  to  a  certain  lake,  you 
may  remember,  nearly  in  front  of  our  Bookham  habitation, 
not  very  remarkable  for  its  lucid  purity,  and  there  im- 
mersed poor  Muff,  and  stood  rubbing  him,  curl  by  curl,  till 
each  particular  one  was  completely  bathed.  This  business 
was  not  over  till  near  midnight,  and  the  impure  water 
which  he  agitated,  joined  to  the  late  hour  and  unwhole- 
some air,  sent  him  in  shivering  with  a  dreadful  pain  in  the 
head,  and  a  violent  feverish  and  rheumatic  cold. 

This  happened  just  as  we  were  beginning  to  prepare  for 
our  removal.  You  will  imagine,  untold,  all  its  alarm  and 
all  its  inconveniences ;  I  thank  God  it  is  long  past,  but  it 
had  its  full  share,  at  the  moment,  of  disquieting  and  tor- 
menting powers. 

"VYe  languished  for  the  moment  of  removal  with  almost 
infantine  fretfulness  at  every  delay  that  distanced  it ;  and 
when  at  last  the  grand  day  came,  our  final  packings,  with 
all  their  toil  and  difficulties  and  labor  and  expense,  were 
mere  acts  of  pleasantry  :  so  bewitched  were  we  with  the 
impending  change,  that,  though  from  six  o'clock  to  three 
we  were  hard  at  work,  without  a  kettle  to  boil  the  break- 
fast, or  a  knife  to  cut  bread  for  a  luncheon,  we  missed 
nothing,  wanted  nothing,  and  were  as  insensible  to  fatigue 
as  to  hunger. 

M.  d'Arblay  set  out  on  foot,  loaded  with  remaining  relics 
of  things,  to  us  precious,  and  Betty  afterwards  with  a 
remnant  glass  or  two  ;  the  other  maid  had  been  sent  two 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  361 

days  before.  I  wa.s  forced  to  have  a  chaise  for  my  Alex, 
and  me,  and  a  few  looking-glasses,  a  few  folios,  and  not  a 
few  other  oddments  ;  and  tlien,  with  dearest  Mr.  Locke,  our 
founder's  portrait,  and  ray  little  boy,  off  I  set;  and  I 
would  my  dearest  Susan  could  relate  to  me  as  delicious  a 
journey. 

My  mate,  striding  over  hedge  and  ditch,  arrived  first, 
though  he  set  out  after,  to  welcome  me  to  our  new  dwell- 
ing :  and  we  entered  our  new  best  room,  in  which  I  found 
a  glorious  fire  of  wood,  and  a  little  bench,  borrowed 
of  one  of  the  departing  carpenters  :  nothing  else.  We  con- 
trived to  make  room  for  each  other,  and  Alex,  disdained 
all  rest.  His  spirits  were  so  high  upon  finding  two  or 
three  rooms  totally  free  for  his  horse  (alias  any  stick  he 
can  pick  up)  and  himself,  unincumbered  by  chairs  and 
tables  and  such-like  lumber,  that  he  was  as  merry  as  little 
Andrew  and  as  wild  as  twenty  colts.  Here  we  unpacked 
a  small  basket,  containing  three  or  four  loaves,  and,  with  a 
garden-knife,  fell  to  work ;  some  eggs  had  been  procured 
from  a  neighboring  farm,  and  one  saucepan  had  been 
brought.  We  dined,  therefore,  exquisitely,  and  drank  to 
our  new  possession  from  a  glass  of  clear  water  out  of  our 
new  well. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  our  goods  arrived.  We  had  our 
bed  put  up  in  the  middle  of  our  room,  to  avoid  risk  of  damp 
walls,  and  our  Alex,  had  his  dear  Willy's  crib  at  our  feet. 

We  none  of  us  caught  cold.  We  had  fire  night  and  day 
in  the  maids'  room,  as  well  as  our  own  —  or  rather  in  my 
Susan's  room ;  for  we  lent  them  that,  their  own  having  a 
little  inconvenience  against  a  fire,  because  it  is  built  with- 
out a  chimney. 

We  continued  making  fires  all  around  us  the  first  fort- 
night, and  then  found  wood  would  be  as  bad  as  an  apothe- 
cary's bill,  so  desisted ;  but  we  did  not  stop  short  so  soon 


362  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

as  to  want  the  latter  to  succeed  the  former,  or  put  our  cal- 
culation to  the  proof. 

Our  first  week  was  devoted  to  unpacking,  and  exulting 
in  our  completed  plan.  To  have  no  one  thing  at  hand, 
nothing  to  eat,  nowhere  to  sit  —  all  were  trifles,  rather,  I 
think,  amusing  than  incommodious.  The  house  looked  so 
clean,  the  distribution  of  the  rooms  and  closets  is  so  con- 
venient, the  prospect  everywhere  around  is  so  gay  and 
so  lovely,  and  the  park  of  dear  NorVjiiry  is  so  close 
at  hand,  that  we  hardly  knew  how  to  require  anything 
else  for  existence  than  the  enjoyment  of  our  own  situa- 
tion. 

At  this  period  I  received  my  summons.  I  believe  I 
have  already  explained  that  I  had  applied  to  Miss  Planta 
for  advice  whether  my  best  chance  of  admission  would  be 
at  Windsor,  Kew,  or  London.  I  had  a  most  kind  letter  of 
answer,  importing  my  letter  had  been  seen,  and  that  her 
Majesty  would  herself  fix  the  time  when  she  could  admit 
me.  This  was  a  great  happiness  to  me,  and  the  fixture 
was  for  the  Queen's  liouse  in  town. 

I  set  off  for  town  early  the  next  day,  Saturday.  My 
time  was  not  yet  fixed  for  my  Eoyal  interview,  but  I  had 
various  preparations  impossible  to  make  in  this  dear,  quiet, 
obscure  cottage.  Mon  ami  could  not  accompany  me,  as 
we  liad  still  two  men  constantly  at  work,  the  house  without 
being  quite  unfinished ;  but  I  could  not  bear  to  leave  his 
little  representative,  who,  with  Betty,  was  my  companion 
tp  Chelsea.  There  I  was  expected,  and  our  dearest  father 
came  forth  with  open  arms  to  welcome  us.  He  was  in  de- 
lightful spirits,  the  sweetest  humor,  and  perfectly  good 
looks  and  good  health.  My  little  rogue  soon  engaged  him 
in  a  romp,  which  conquered  his  rustic  shyness,  and  they 
became  the  best  friends  in  the  world. 

Thursday    morning  I  had  a  letter  fronj   Mi^s   Planta, 


1797.]  OF  MADAME  d'aRBLAY.  363 

written  with  extreme  warmth  of  kindness,  and  fixing  the 
next  day  at  eleven  o'clock  for  my  Royal  admission. 

I  went  upstairs  to  Miss  Plauta's  room,  where,  while  T 
waited  for  her  to  be  called,  the  charming  Princess  ]\Iary 
passed  by,  attended  by  Mrs.  Cheveley.  She  recollected 
me,  and  turned  back,  and  came  up  to  me  with  a  fair  hand 
graciously  held  out  to  me.  "  How  do  you  do,  Madame 
d'Arblay  ? "  she  cried :  "  I  am  vastly  glad  to  see  you 
again ;  and  how  does  your  little  boy  do  ?  " 

I  gave  her  a  little  account  of  the  rogue,  and  she  pro- 
ceeded to  inquire  about  my  new  cottage,  and  its  actual 
state.  I  entered  into  a  long  detail  of  its  bare  walls  and 
unfurnished  sides,  and  the  gambols  of  the  little  man  un- 
encumbered by  cares  of  fractures  from  useless  ornaments, 
that  amused  her  good-humored  interest  in  my  affairs  very 
much  ;  and  she  did  not  leave  me  till  Miss  Planta  came  to 
usher  me  to  Princess  Augusta. 

That  kind  Princess  received  me  with  a  smile  so  gay,  and 
a  look  so  pleased  at  my  pleasure  in  again  seeing  her,  that 
I  quite  regretted  the  etiquette  which  prevented  a  chaste 
embrace.  She  was  sitting  at  her  toilette,  having  her  hair 
dressed.  The  Eoyal  Family  were  all  going  at  night  to  the 
play.  She  turned  instantly  from  the  glass  to  face  me,  and 
insisted  upon  my  being  seated  immediately.  She  then 
wholly  forgot  her  attire  and  ornaments  and  appearance, 
and  consigned  herself  wholly  to  conversation,  with  that 
intelligent  animation  which  marks  her  character.  She  in- 
quired immediately  how  my  little  boy  did,  and  then  with 
great  sweetness  after  his  father,  and  after  my  father. 

My  first  subject  was  the  Princess  Royal,  and  I  accounted 
for  not  having  left  my  Hermitage  in  the  hope  of  once  more 
seeing  her  Royal  Highness  before  her  departure.  It  would 
have  been,  I  told  her,  so  melancholy  a  jjleasure  to  have 
come  merely  for  a  last  view,  that  T  could  not  bear  to  take 


364  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797- 

my  annual  indulgence  at  a  period  which  would  make  it 
leave  a  mournful  impression  upon  my  mind  for  a  twelve- 
month to  come.  The  Princess  said  slie  could  enter  into 
that,  but  said  it  as  if  she  had  been  surprised  I  had  not 
appeared.  She  then  gave  me  some  account  of  the  cere- 
mony ;  and  when  I  told  her  I  had  heard  that  her  Eoyal 
Highness  the  bride  had  never  looked  so  lovely,  she  con- 
firmed the  praise  warmly,  but  laughingly  added,  "  'T  was 
the  Queen  dressed  her  !  You  know  what  a  figure  she  used 
to  make  of  herself,  with  her  odd  manner  of  dressing  her- 
self; but  mamma  said,  'Now  really,  Princess  Eoyal,  this 
one  time  is  the  last,  and  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  make  such 
a  quiz  of  yourself;  so  I  will  really  have  you  dressed 
properly.'  And  indeed  the  Queen  was  quite  in  the  right, 
for  everybody  said  she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her 
life." 

The  word  quiz,  you  may  depend,  was  never  the  Queen's. 
I  had  great  comfort,  however,  in  gathering,  from  all  that 
passed  on  that  subject,  that  the  Ptoyal  Family  is  persuaded 
this  estimable  Princess  is  happy.  From  what  I  know  of 
her  disposition  I  am  led  to  believe  the  situation  may  make 
her  so.  She  is  born  to  preside,  and  that  with  equal  soft- 
ness and  dignity  ;  but  she  was  here  in  utter  subjection,  for 
which  she  had  neither  spirits  nor  inclination.  She  adored 
the  King,  honored  the  Queen,  and  loved  her  sisters,  and 
had  much  kindness  for  her  brothers  ;  but  her  style  of  life 
was  not  adapted  to  the  royalty  of  her  nature,  any  more 
than  of  her  birth ;  and  though  she  only  wished  for  power 
to  do  good  and  to  confer  favors,  she  thought  herself  out  of 
her  place  in  not  possessing  it. 

I  was  particularly  happy  to  learn  from  tlie  Princess 
Augusta  that  she  has  already  a  favorite  friend  in  her  new 
court,  in  one  of  the  Princesses  of  Wurtemberg,  wife  of  a 
younger   brother  of  the  Hereditary  Prince,  and  who   is 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  365 

almost  as  a  widow,  from  the  Prince,  lier  husband,  being 
constantly  with  the  army.  This  is  a  delightful  circum- 
stance, as  her  turn  of  mind,  and  taste,  and  employments, 
accord  singularly  with  those  of  our  Princess. 

I  have  no  recollection  of  the  order  of  our  conversation, 
but  will  give  you  what  morsels  occur  to  me  as  they  arise 
in  my  memory. 

The  terrible  mutiny  occupied  us  some  time.  She  told 
me  many  anecdotes  that  she  had  learnt  in  favor  of  various 
sailors,  declaring,  with  great  animation,  her  security  in 
their  good  hearts,  however  drawn  aside  by  harder  and 
more  cunning  heads.  The  sweetness  with  which  she  de- 
lights to  get  out  of  all  that  is  forbidding  in  her  rank  is 
truly  adorable.  In  speaking  of  a  sailor  on  boai-d  the  St. 
Fiorenzo,  when  the  Eoyal  Family  made  their  excursion  by 
sea  from  Weymouth,  she  said,  "  You  must  know  this  man 
was  a  great  favorite  of  mine,  for  he  had  the  most  honest 
countenance  you  can  conceive,  and  I  have  often  talked 
with  him,  every  time  we  have  been  at  Weymouth,  so  that 
we  were  good  friends  ;  but  I  wanted  now  in  particular  to 
ask  him  concerning  the  mutiny,  but  I  knew  I  should  not  get 
him  to  speak  out  while  the  King  and  Queen  and  my  sisters 
were  by ;  so  I  told  Lady  Charlotte  Bellasyse  to  watch  an  op- 
portunity, when  he  was  upon  deck,  and  the  rest  were  in  the 
cabin,  and  then  we  went  up  to  him  and  questioned  him  ; 
and  he  quite  answered  my  expectations,  for,  instead  of  tak- 
ing any  merit  to  himself  from  belonging  to  the  St.  Fiorenzo, 
which  was  never  in  the  mutiny,  the  good  creature  said  he 
was  sure  there  was  not  a  sailor  in  the  navy  that  was  not 
sorry  to  have  belonged  to  it,  and  would  not  have  got  out  of 
it  as  readily  as  himself,  if  he  had  known  bxit  how." 

We  had  then  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  Weymouth,  but 
it  was  all  local ;  and  as  my  Susan  has  not  been  there,  it 
would  be  too  Ions  to  scribble. 


366  DIARY   AND  LETTERS  [1797. 

"One  tiling,"  cried  she,  her  eyes  brightening  as  she 
spoke,  "  I  must  tell  you,  though  I  am  sure  you  know  it  a 
great  deal  better  than  me,  that  is  about  Mr.  Locke's  family, 
and  so  I  think  it  will  give  you  pleasure.  General  and 
Mrs.  Harcourt  went  lately  to  see  Norbury  Park,  and  they 
were  in  the  neighborhood  somewhere  near  Guildford  some 
time,  the  General's  regiment  being  quartered  thereabouts ; 
and  the  family  they  were  with  knew  the  Lockes  very  well, 
and  told  them  they  were  the  best  people  in  the  world. 
They  said  Mr.  Locke  was  always  employed  in  some  benev- 
olent action,  and  all  the  family  were  good ;  and  that  there 
was  one  daughter  quite  beautiful,  and  the  most  amiable 
creature  in  the  world,  and  very  like  Mrs.  Locke." 

"  The  very  representative,"  cried  I,  "  of  both  parents  ; " 
and  thus  encouraged  I  indulged  myself,  without  restraint 
or  conciseness,  in  speaking  of  the  sweet  girl  and  her  most 
beloved  and  incomparable  parents,  and  Mr.  William,  and 
all  the  house  in  general. 

The  Princess  Elizabeth  now  entered,  but  she  did  not 
stay.  She  came  to  ask  something  of  her  s-ister  relative  to 
a  little  fete  she  was  preparing,  by  way  of  a  collation,  in 
honor  of  the  Princess  Sophia,  who  was  twenty  this  day. 
She  made  kind  inquiries  after  my  health,  &c.,  and,  being 
mistress  of  the  birthday-fete,  hurried  off,  and  I  had  not  the 
pleasure  to  see  her  any  more. 

I  must  be  less  minute,  or  I  shall  never  have  done.  My 
charming  Princess  Augusta  renewed  the  conversation.  Ad- 
miral Duncan's  noble  victory  became  the  theme,  but  it  was 
interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  lovely  Princess  Ame- 
lia, now  become  a  model  of  grace,  beauty,  and  sweetness, 
in  their  bud.  She  gave  me  her  hand  with  the  softest  ex- 
pression of  kindness,  and  almost  immediately  began  ques- 
tioning me  concerning  my  little  boy  and  with  an  air  of 
interest  the  most  captivating.     But  again  Princess  Augusta 


1797.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  367 

declined  any  interruptovs  :  "  You  shall  have  Madame  d'Ar- 
blay  all  to  yourself,  my  dear,  soon,"  she  cried  laughingly ; 
and,  with  a  smile  a  little  serious,  the  sweet  Princess  Amelia 
retreated. 

It  would  have  been  truly  edifying  to  young  ladies  living 
in  the  great  and  public  world  to  have  assisted  in  my  place 
at  the  toilette  of  this  exquisite  Princess  Augusta.  Her 
ease,  amounting  even  to  indifference,  as  to  her  ornaments 
and  decoration,  showed  a  mind  so  disengaged  from  vanity, 
so  superior  to  mere  personal  appearance,  that  I  could  with 
difficulty  forbear  manifesting  my  admiration.  She  let  the 
hair-dresser  proceed  upon  her  head  without  comment  and 
without  examination,  just  as  if  it  was  solely  his  affair;  and 
when  the  man,  Robinson,  humbly  begged  to  know  what 
ornaments  he  was  to  prepare  the  hair  for,  she  said,  "  Oh, 
there  are  my  feathers,  and  my  gown  is  blue,  so  take  what 
you  think  right."  And  when  he  begged  she  would  say 
whether  she  would  have  any  ribbons  or  other  things  mixed 
with  the  feathers  and  jewels,  she  said,  "  You  understand 
all  that  best,  Mr.  Robinson,  I  'm  sure  ;  there  are  the  things, 
so  take  just  w^hat  you  please."  And  after  this  she  left 
him  wholly  to  himself,  never  a  moment  interrupting  her 
discourse  or  her  attention  with  a  single  direction. 

She  had  just  begun  a  very  interesting  account  of  an 
officer  that  had  conducted  himself  singularly  well  in  the 
mutiny,  when  Miss  Planta  came  to  summon  me  to  the 
Queen.  I  begged  permission  to  return  afterwards  for  my 
unfinished  narrative,  and  then  proceeded  to  the  Wldte 
Closet. 

The  Queen  was  alone,  seated  at  a  table,  and  working. 
Miss  Planta  opened  the  door  and  retired  without  entering. 
I  felt  a  good  deal  affected  by  the  sight  of  her  Majesty 
again,  so  graciously  accorded  to  my  request ;  but  my  first 
and  instinctive  feeling  was  nothing  to  what  I  experienced 


368  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

when,  after  my  profoundly  respectful  reverence,  I  raised 
my  eyes,  and  saw  in  hers  a  look  of  sensibility  so  expressive 
of  regard,  and  so  examining,  so  penetrating  into  mine,  as 
to  seem  to  convey,  involuntarily,  a  regret  I  had  quitted 
her.  This,  at  least,  was  the  idea  that  struck  me,  from  the 
species  of  look  which  met  me,  and  it  touched  me  to  the 
heart,  and  brought  instantly,  in  defiance  of  all  struggle,  a 
flood  of  tears  into  my  eyes.  I  was  some  minutes  recov- 
ering ;  and  when  I  then  entreated  her  forgiveness,  and 
cleared  up,  the  voice  with  which  she  spoke,  in  hoping  I 
was  well,  told  me  she  had  caught  a  little  of  my  sensation, 
for  it  was  by  no  means  steady.  Indeed,  at  that  moment, 
I  longed  to  kneel  and  beseech  her  pardon  for  the  displeas- 
ure I  had  felt  in  her  long  resistance  of  my  resignation ;  for 
I  think,  now,  it  was  from  a  real  and  truly  honorable  wish 
to  attach  me  to  her  for  ever.  But  I  then  suffered  too 
much  from  a  situation  so  ill  adapted  to  my  choice  and  dis- 
positi-on,  to  do  justice  to  her  opposition,  or  to  enjoy  its 
honor  to  myself  Now  that  I  am  so  singularly,  alas  !  nearly 
singularly  happy,  though  wholly  from  my  perseverance  in 
that  resignation,  I  feel  all  I  owe  her,  and  I  feel  more  and 
more  grateful  for  every  mark  of  her  condescension,  either 
recollected  or  renewed. 

She  looked  ill,  pale,  and  harassed.  The  King  was  but 
just  returned  from  his  abortive  visit  to  the  Nore,  and  the 
inquietude  she  had  sustained  during  that  short  separation, 
circumstanced  many  ways  alarmingly,  had  evidently  shaken 
her  :  I  saw  with  much,  with  deep  concern,  her  sunk  eyes 
and  spirits  ;  I  believe  the  sight  of  me  raised  not  the  latter. 
j\Irs.  Schwellenberg  had  not  long  been  dead,  and  I  have 
some  reason  to  think  she  would  not  have  been  sorry  to 
have  had  me  supply  the  vacancy ;  for  I  had  immediate 
notice  sent  me  of  her  death  by  Miss  Planta,  so  written  as 
to  persuade  me  it  was  a  letter  by  command.     But  not  all 


1797.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  369 

my  duty,  all  my  gratitude,  could  urge  me,  even  one  short 
fleeting  moment,  to  weigh  any  interest  against  the  sooth- 
ing serenity,  the  unfading  felicity,  of  a  Hermitage  such 
as  mine. 

We  spoke  of  poor  Mrs.  Schwelly,  —  and  of  her  succes- 
sor, Mile.  Backraeister, —  and  of  mine,  Mrs.  Bremyere  ; 
,and  I  could  not  but  express  my  concern  that  Her  Majesty 
had  again  been  so  unfortunate,  for  Mile.  Jacobi  had  just 
retired  to  Germany,  ill  and  dissatisfied  with  everything  in 
England.  The  Princess  Augusta  had  recounted  to  me  the 
whole  narrative  of  her  retirement,  and  its  circumstances. 
The  Queen  told  me  that  the  King  had  very  handsomely 
taken  care  of  her.  But  such  frequent  retirements  are 
heavy  weights  upon  the  royal  bounty.  I  felt  almost  guilty 
when  the  subject  was  started  ;  but  not  from  any  reproach, 
any  allusion, —  not  a  word  was  dropped  that  had  not 
kindness  and  goodness  for  its  basis  and  its  superstructure 
at  once. 

"  How  is  your  little  boy  ? "  was  one  of  the  earliest 
questions.  "  Is  he  here  ? "  she  added.  "  0  yes,"  I  an- 
swered, misunderstanding  her,  "  he  is  my  shadow ;  I  go 
nowhere  without  him." 

"  But  here,  I  mean  ? " 

"  0  no  !  ma'am,  I  did  not  dare  presume — "  I  stopped, 
for  her  look  said  it  would  be  no  presumption.  And  Miss 
Planta  had  already  desired  me  to  bring  him  to  her  next 
time  ;  which  I  suspect  was  by  higher  order  than  her  own 
suggestion.  She  then  inquired  after  my  dear  father,  and 
so  graciously,  that  I  told  her  not  only  of  his  good  health, 
but  his  occupations,,  his  new  work,  a  "  Poetical  History  of 
Astronomy,"  and  his  consultations  with  Herschel. 

She  permitted  me  to  speak  a  good  deal  of  the  Princess  of 
Wurteraberg,  whom  they  still  all  call  Princess  Ptoyal.  She 
told  me  she  had  worked  her  wedding  garment,  and  entirely, 
VOL.  II.  24 


370  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1797. 

and  the  real  labor  it  had  proved,  from  her  steadiness  to 
have  no  help,  well  knowing  that  three  stitches  done  by  any 
other  would  make  it  immediately  said  it  was  none  of  it 
by  herself.  "  As  the  bride  of  a  widower,"  she  continued, 
"  I  know  she  ought  to  be  in  white  and  gold ;  but  as  the 
King's  eldest  daughter  she  had  a  right  to  white  and  silver, 
which  she  preferred." 

She  then  deigned  to  inquire  very  particularly  about  our 
new  cottage,  —  its  size,  its  number  of  rooms,  and  its 
grounds.  I  told  her,  honestly,  it  was  excessively  comfort- 
able though  unfinished  and  unfitted  up,  for  that  it  had 
innumerable  little  contrivances  and  conveniences,  just 
adapted  to  our  particular  use  and  taste,  as  M.  d'Arblay 
had  been  its  sole  architect  and  surveyor.  "  Then,  I  dare 
say,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  very  commodious,  for  there  are 
no  people  understand  enjoyable  accommodations  more  than 
French  gentlemen,  when  they  have  the  arranging  them 
themselves." 

This  was  very  kind,  and  encouraged  me  to  talk  a  good  deal 
of  my  partner,  in  his  various  works  and  employments ;  and 
her  manner  of  attention  was  even  touchingly  condescend- 
ing, all  circumstances  considered.  And  she  then  related  to 
me  the  works  of  two  French  priests,  to  whom  she  has  her- 
self been  so  good  as  to  commit  the  fitting  up  of  one  of  her 
apartments  at  Frogmore.  And  afterwards  she  gave  me  a 
description  of  what  another  French  gentleman  —  elegantly 
and  feelingly  avoiding  to  say  emigrant  —  had  done  in  a 
room  belonging  to  Mrs.  Harcourt,  at  Sophia  Farm,  where 
he  had  the  sole  superintendence  of  it,  and  has  made  it 
beautiful. 

When  she  asked  about  our  field,  I  told  her  we  hoped  in 
time  to  buy  it,  as  Mr.  Locke  had  the  extreme  kindness  to 
consent  to  part  with  it  to  us,  when  it  should  suit  our  con- 
venience to  purchase  instead  of  renting  it.     I  thought  I 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  371 

saw  a  look  of  peculiar  satisfaction  at  this,  that  seemed  to 
convey  pleasure  in  the  implication  thence  to  be  drawn, 
tliat  England  was  our  decided,  not  forced  or  eventual  resi- 
dence. And  she  led  me  on  to  many  minute  particulars  of 
our  situation  and  way  of  living,  with  a  sweetness  of  interest 
I  can  never  forget. 

Nor  even  here  stopped  the  sensations  of  gratitude  and 
pleasure  she  thus  awoke.  She  spoke  then  of  my  beloved 
Susan  ;  asked  if  she  were  still  in  Ireland,  and  how  the 
"  pretty  Norbury"  did.  She  then  a  little  embarrassed  me 
by  an  inquiry  "  Why  Major  Phillips  went  to  Ireland  ? " 
for  my  answer,  that  he  was  persuaded  he  should  improve 
his  estate  by  superintending  the  agriculture  of  it  himself, 
seemed  unsatisfactory ;  however,  she  pressed  it  no  further. 
But  I  cannot  judge  by  what  passed  whether  she  concludes 
he  is  employed  in  a  military  way  there,  or  whether  she  has 
heard  that  he  has  retired.  She  seemed  kindly  pleased  at 
all  I  had  to  relate  of  my  dear  Norbury,  and  I  delighted  to 
call  him  back  to  her  remembrance. 

She  talked  a  good  deal  of  the  Duchess  of  York,  who 
continues  the  first  favorite  of  the  whole  Royal  Family. 
She  told  me  of  her  beautiful  works,  lamented  her  indif- 
ferent health,  and  expatiated  upon  her  admirable  distribu- 
tion of  her  time  and  plan  of  life,  and  charming  qualities 
and  character. 

She  asked  me  about  Mr.  Locke  and  his  family,  and  hon- 
ored me  with  an  ear  of  uninterrupted  attention  while  I 
made  an  harangue  of  no  small  length  upon  the  chief  in 
particular,  and  the  rest  in  general.  She  seems  always  to 
take  pleasure  in  the  quick  gratification  this  subject  af- 
fords me. 

Of  her  own  Royal  daughters  she  permitted  me  also  to 
talk,  especially  of  my  two  peculiar  idols.  And  she  gave 
me  a  copious  description  of  the  new  improvements  still 


372  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

going  on  at  Frogmore,  with  a  detail  of  some  surprises  the 
King  had  given  her,  by  orders  and  buildings  erected  in  the 
gardens  during  her  absence. 

But  what  chiefly  dwells  upon  me  with  pleasure  is,  that 
she  spoke  to  me  upon  some  subjects  and  persons  that  I 
know  she  would  not  for  the  world  should  be  repeated,  with 
just  the  same  confidence,  the  same  reliance  upon  my  grate- 
ful discretion  for  her  openness,  that  she  honored  me  with 
while  she  thought  me  established  in  her  service  for  life.  I 
need  not  tell  ray  Susan  how  this  binds  me  more  than  ever 
to  her. 

Very  short  to  me  seemed  the  time,  though  the  whole  con- 
versation was  serious,  and  lier  air  thoughtful  almost  to 
sadness,  when  a  page  touched  the  door,  and  said  something 
in  German.  The  Queen,  who  was  then  standing  by  the 
window,  turned  round  to  answer  him,  and  then,  with  a 
sort  of  congratulatory  smile  to  me,  said,  "  Now  you  will 
see  what  you  don't  expect  —  the  King!"  I  could  indeed 
not  expect  it,  for  he  was  at  Blackheath  at  a  review,  and  he 
was  returned  only  to  dress  for  the  levee. 

The  King  related  very  pleasantly  a  little  anecdote  of 

Lady .     "  She  brought  the  little  Princess  Charlotte,"  he 

said,  "  to  me  just  before  the  review.  '  She  hoped,'  she  said, 
'  I  should  not  take  it  ill,  for,  having  mentioned  it  to  the 
child,  she  built  so  upon  it  that  she  had  thought  of  nothing 
else  ! '  Now  this,"  cried  he,  laughing  heartily,  "  was  pretty 
strong  !  How  can  she  know  what  a  child  is  thinking  of 
before  it  can  speak  ?  " 

I  was  very  happy  at  the  fondness  they  both  expressed 
for  the  little  Princess.  "  A  sweet  little  creature,"  the  King 
called  her;  "A  most  lovely  child,"  the  Queen  turned  to 
me  to  add ;  and  the  King  said  he  had  taken  her  upon  his 
horse,  and  given  her  a  little  ride,  before  the  regiment  rode 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  373 

up  to  him.  "  'T  is  very  odd,"  he  added,  "  but  she  always 
knows  me  on  horseback,  and  never  else."  "  Yes,"  said  the 
Queen,  "  when  his  Majesty  comes  to  her  on  horseback  she 
claps  her  little  hands,  and  endeavors  to  say  '  Gan-pa  ! ' 
immediately."  I  was  much  pleased  that  she  is  brought  up 
to  such  simple  and  affectionate  acknowledgment  of  rela- 
tionship. 

The  King  then  inquired  about  my  father,  and  with  a 
look  of  interest  and  kindness  that  regularly  accompanies 
his  mention  of  that  most  dear  person.  He  asked  alter  his 
health,  his  spirits,  and  his  occupations,  waiting  for  long 
answers  to  each  inquiry.  The  Queen  anticipated  my  rela- 
tion of  his  astronomic  work,  and  he  seemed  much  pleased 
with  the  design,  as  well  as  at  hearing  that  his  protege,  Dr. 
Herschel,  had  been  consulted. 

I  was  then  a  little  surprised  by  finding  he  had  heard  of 
"  Clarentine."  He  asked  me,  smilingly,  some  questions 
about  it,  and  if  it  were  true,  what  he  suspected,  that  my 
youngest  sister  had  a  mind  to  do  as  I  had  done,  and  bring 
out  a  work  in  secret  ?  I  was  very  much  pleased  then 
when  the  Queen  said,  "  I  have  seen  it,  sir,  and  it  is  very 
pretty."  There  was  time  but  for  little  more,  as  he  was  to 
change  his  dress  for  the  levee ;  and  I  left  their  presence 
more  attached  to  them,  I  really  think,  than  ever. 

I  then,  by  her  kind  appointment,  returned  to  my  lovely 
and  loved  Princess  -  Augusta.  Her  hair-dresser  was  just 
gone,  and  she  was  proceeding  in  equipping  herself.  "  If 
you  can  bear  to  see  all  this  work,"  cried  she,  "  pray,  come 
and  sit  with  me,  my  dear  Madame  d'Arblay." 

Nothing  could  be  more  expeditious  than  her  attiring 
herself,  —  nothing  more  careless  than  her  examination  how 
it  succeeded.  But  judge  my  confusion  and  embarrassment, 
when,  upon  my  saying  I  came  to  petition  for  the  rest  of 
the  story  she  had  just  begun,  and  her  answering  by  inquir- 


374  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1797. 

ing  what  it  was  about,  I  could  not  tell !  It  had  entirely- 
escaped  my  memory  ;  and  though  I  sought  every  way  I 
could  suggest  to  recall  it,  I  so  entirely  failed,  that,  after 
her  repeated  demands,  I  was  compelled  honestly  to  own 
that  the  commotion  I  had  been  put  in  by  my  interview 
with  their  Majesties  had  really  driven  it  from  my  mind. 
She  bore  this  with  the  true  good  humor  of  good  sense ;  but 
1  was  most  excessively  ashamed. 

She  then  resumed  the  reigning  subject  of  the  day.  Ad- 
miral Duncan's  victory ;  and  this  led  [lier]  to  speak  again 
of  the  Orange  family ;  but  she  checked  what  seemed 
occurring  to  her  about  them,  till  her  wardrobe- woman  had 
done  and  was  dismissed ;  then,  hurrying  her  away,  while 
she  sat  down  by  me,  putting  on  her  long  and  superb 
diamond  earrings  herself,  and  without  even  turning  towards 
a  glass,  she  said,  "  I  don't  like  much  to  talk  of  that  family 
before  the  servants,  for  I  am  told  they  already  think  the 
King  too  good  to  them." 

The  Princess  of  Orange  is,  I  find,  a  great  favorite  with 
them  all ;  the  Prince  Frederick  also,  I  believe,  they  like 
very  much  ;  but  the  Prince  himself,  she  said,  "  has  never, 
in  fact,  had  his  education  finished.  He  was  married  quite 
a  boy ;  but,  being  married,  concluded  himself  a  man,  and 
not  only  turned  off  all  his  instructors,  but  thought  it  un- 
necessary to  ask,  or  hear,  counsel  or  advice  of  any  one. 
He  is  like  a  fallow  field,  —  that  is,  not  of  a  soil  that  can't 
be  improved,  but  one  that  has  been  left  quite  to  itself,  and 
therefore  has  no  materials  put  in  it  for  improvement." 

?)he  then  told  me  that  she  had  hindered  him,  with  great 
difficulty,  from  going  to  a  great  dinner,  given  at  the  IMan- 
sion  House,  upon  the  victory  of  Admiral  Duncan.  It  was 
not,  she  said,  that  he  did  not  feel  for  his  country  in  tliat 
defeat,  but  that  he  never  weighed  the  impropriety  of  his 
public  appearance  upon  an  occasion  of  rejoicing  at  it,  nor 


1797.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  375 

tlie  ill  effect  of  the  history  of  his  so  doing  would  produce  in 
Holland.  She  had  the  kindness  of  heart  to  take  upon  her- 
self preventing  him  ;  "  for  no  one,"  says  she,  "  that  is  about 
him  dares  ever  speak  to  him,  to  give  him  any  hint  of  ad- 
vice ;  which  is  a  great  misfortune  to  him,  poor  man,  for  it 
makes  him  uever  know  what  is  said  or  thought  of  him." 
She  related  with  a  great  deal  of  humor  her  arguments  to  dis- 
suade him,  and  his  na'ive  manner  of  combating  them.  But 
though  she  conquered  at  last,  she  did  not  convince. 

The  Princess  of  Orange,  she  told  me,  had  a  most  supe- 
rior understanding,  and  might  guide  him  sensibly  and  hon- 
orably ;  but  he  was  so  jealous  of  being  thought  led  by  her 
counsel,  that  he  never  listened  to  it  at  all.  She  gave  me 
to  understand  that  this  unhappy  Princess  had  had  a  life  of 
uninterrupted  indulgence  and  prosperity  till  the  late  revo- 
lution ;  and  that  the  suddenness  of  such  adversity  had 
rather  soured  her  mind,  which,  had  it  met  sorrow  and  evil 
by  any  gradations,  would  have  been  equal  to  bearing  them 
even  nobly ;  but  so  quick  a  transition  from  affluence,  and 
power,  and  wealth,  and  grandeur,  to  a  fugitive  and  de- 
pendent state,  had  almost  overpowered  her. 

A  door  was  now  opened  from  an  inner  apartment,  where, 
I  believe,  was  the  grand  collation  for  the  Princess  Sophia's 
birthday,  and  a  tall  thin  young  man  appeared  at  it,  peep- 
ing and  staring,  but  not  entering. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Ernest  ? "  cried  the  Princess  ;  "  I  hope 
you  are  well ;  only  pray  do  shut  the  door."  He  did  not 
obey,  nor  move,  either  forwards  or  backwards,  but  kept 
peering  and  peeping.  She  called  to  him  again,  beseeching 
him  to  shut  the  door ;  but  he  was  determined  to  first  gratify 
his  curiosity,  and  when  he  had  looked  as  long  as  he  thought 
pleasant,  he  entered  the  apartment ;  but  Princess  Augusta, 
instead  of  receiving  and  welcoming  him,  only  said,  "  Good- 
bye, my  dear  Ernest ;  I  shall  see  you  again  at  the  play." 


376  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

He  then  marched  on,  finding  himself  so  little  desired,  and 
only  saying,  "No,  you  won't ;  I  hate  the' play." 

I  had  risen  when  I  found  it  one  of  the  Princes,  and 
with  a  motion  of  readiness  to  depart ;  but  my  dear  Prin- 
cess would  not  let  me.  When  we  were  alone  again,  "  Er- 
nest," she  said,  "  has  a  very  good  lieart ;  only  he  speaks 
without  taking  time  to  think." 

She  then  gave  me  an  instance.  The  Orange  family  by 
some  chance  were  all  assembled  with  our  Eoyal  Family 
when  the  news  of  the  great  victory  at  sea  arrived  ;  or  at 
least  upon  the  same  day.  "  We  were  all,"  said  she,  "  dis- 
tressed for  them  upon  so  trying  an  occasion ;  and  at  sup- 
per we  talked,  of  course,  of  every  other  subject ;  but  Er- 
nest, quite  uneasy  at  the  forbearance,  said  to  me,  '  You 
don't  think  I  won't  drink  Admiral  Duncan's  health  to- 
night ? '  '  Hush  ! '  cried  I.  '  That 's  very  hard  indeed  ! ' 
said  he,  quite  aloud.  I  saw  the  Princess  of  Orange  looking 
at  him,  and  was  sure  she  had  heard  him  ;  I  trod  \ipon  his 
foot,  and  made  hira  turn  to  her.  She  looked  so  disturbed, 
that  he  saw  she  had  understood  him,  and  he  colored  veiy 
high.  The  Princess  of  Orange  then  said,  '  I  hope  my 
being  here  will  be  no  restraint  upon  anybody :  I  know 
what  must  be  the  subject  of  everybody's  thoughts,  and  I 
beg  I  may  not  prevent  its  being  so  of  their  discourse.' 
Poor  Ernest  now  was  so  sorry,  he  was  ready  to  die,  and  the 
tears  started  into  his  eyes ;  and  he  would  not  have  given 
his  toast  after  this  for  all  the  world." 

The  play  they  were  going  to  w^as  "  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,"  to  see  a  new  actress,  just  now  much  talked  of  — 
Miss  Betterton ;  and  the  indulgent  King,  hearing  she  was 
extremely  frightened  at  the  thoughts  of  appearing  before 
him,  desired  she  might  choose  her  own  part  for  the  first 
exhibition  in  his  presence.     She  fixed  upon  Portia. 

In  speaking  of  Miss  Farren's  marriage  with  the  Earl  of 


17Q7.J  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  377 

Derby,  slie  displayed  that  sweet  mind  which  her  state  and 
station  has  so  wholly  escaped  sullying ;  for,  far  from  ex- 
pressing either  horror,  or  resentment,  or  derision  at  an 
actress  being  elevated  to  the  rank  of  second  countess  of 
England,  she  told  me,  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  that  she 
was  informed  she  had  behaved  extremely  well  since  lier 
marriage,  and  done  many  generous  and  charitable  actions. 
She  spoke  with  pleasure,  too,  of  the  high  marriage  made  by 
another  actress.  Miss  Wallis,  who  has  preserved  a  spotless 
character,  and  is  now  the  wife  of  a  man  of  fortune  and 
family,  Mr.  Campbell. 

Jn  mentioning  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  her  great  and  affecting 
powers,  she  much  surprised  me  by  intelligence  that  she 
had  bought  the  proprietorship  of  Sadler's  Wells.  I  could 
not  hear  it  without  some  amusement ;  it  seemed,  I  SE^id,  so 
extraordinary  a  combination  —  so  degrading  a  one,  indeed, 
—  that  of  the  first  tragic  actress,  the  living  Melpomene,  and 
something  so  burlesque  as  Sadler's  Wells.  She  laughed, 
and  said  it  offered  her  a  very  ludicrous  image,  for 
"  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Sadler's  Wells,"  said  she,  "  seems  to 
me  as  ill  fitted  as  the  dish  they  call  a  toad  in  a  hole ;  which 
I  never  saw,  but  always  think  of  with  anger  —  putting  a 
noble  sirloin  of  beef  into  a  poor,  paltry  batter-pudding  ! " 

The  door  now  again  opened,  and  another  Eoyal  person- 
age put  in  his  head  ;  and  upon  the  Princess  saying,  "  How 
d'  ye  do,  William  ? "  I  recollected  the  Duke  of  Clarence. 

I  rose,  of  course,  and  he  made  a  civil  bow  to  my  curtsey. 
The  Princess  asked  him  about  the  House  of  Lords  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  where  I  found  he  had  spoken  very  hand- 
somely and  generously  in  eulogium  of  Admiral  Duncan. 
Finding  he  was  inclined  to  stay,  the  Princess  said  to  me, 
"  Madame  d'Arblay,  I  beg  you  will  sit  down." 

"  Pray,  madam,"  said  the  Duke,  with  a  formal  motion  of 
his  hand,  "  let  me  beg  you  to  be  seated." 


378  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

"  You  know  —  you  recollect  Madame  d'Arblay,  don't 
you,  William  ? "  said  the  Princess.  He  bowed  civilly  an 
affirmative,  and  then  began  talking  to  me  of  Chesington. 
How  I  grieved  poor  dear  Kitty  was  gone !  How  great 
would  have  been  her  gratification  to  have  heard  that  he 
mentioned  her,  and  with  an  air  of  kindness,  as  if  he  had 
really  entered  into  the  solid  goodness  of  her  character.  I 
was  much  surprised  and  much  pleased,  yet  not  without 
some  perplexity  and  some  embarrassment,  as  his  knowledge 
of  the  excellent  Kitty  was  from  her  being  the  dupe  of  the 
mistress  of  his  aide-de-camp. 

The  Princess,  however,  saved  me  any  confusion  beyond 
apprehension,  for  she  asked  not  one  question.  He  moved 
on  towards  the  next  apartment,  and  we  were  again  alone. 

She  then  talked^to  me  a  great  deal  of  him,  and  gave  me, 
admirabl}^  his  character.  She  is  very  partial  to  him,  but 
by  no  means  blindly.  He  had  very  good  parts,  she  said, 
but  seldom  did  them  justice.  "If  he  has  something  of 
high  importance  to  do,"  she  continued,  "  he  will  exert  him- 
self to  the  utmost,  and  do  it  really  well ;  but  otherwise,  he 
is  so  fond  of  his  ease,  he  lets  everything  take  its  course. 
He  must  do  a  great  deal,  or  nothing.  However,  I  really 
think,  if  he  takes  pains,  he  may  make  something  of  a 
speaker  by-and-by  in  the  House." 

She  related  a  visit  he  had  made  at  Lady  Mary  Duncan's, 
at  Hampton  Court,  upon  hearing  Admiral  Duncan  was 
there ;  and  told  me  the  whole  and  most  minute  particulars 
of  the  battle,  as  they  were  repeated  by  his  Royal  Highness 
from  the  Admiral's  own  account.  But  you  will  dispense 
with  the  martial  detail  from  me.  "  Lady  Mary,"  cried  she, 
"  is  quite  enchanted  with  her  gallant  nephew.  '  I  used  to 
look,'  says  she,  '  for  honor  and  glory  from  my  other  side, 

the  T 's ;  but  I  receive  it  only  from  the  Duncans  !     As 

to  the  T 's,  what  good  do  they  do  their  country  ?  — 


1797.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  379 

why,  they  play  all  day  at  tennis,  and  learn  with  vast  skill 
to  notch  and  scotch  and  go  one  !  And  that 's  what  their 
country  gets  from  them  ! '  " 

I  thought  now  I  should  certainly  be  dismissed,  for  a 
page  came  to  the  door  to  announce  that  the  Duke  of  York 
was  arrived:  but  she  only  said,  "Very  well;  pray  shut 
the  door ; "  which  seemed  her  gentle  manner  of  having  it 
understood  she  would  not  be  disturbed,  as  she  used  the 
same  words  when  messages  were  brought  her  from  the 
Princesses  Elizabeth  and  Mary. 

She  spoke  again  of  the  Duchess  of  York  with  the  same 
fondness  as  at  Windsor.  "  I  told  you  before,"  she  said,  "  I 
loved  her  like  one  of  my  own  sisters,  and  I  can  tell  you  no 
more :  and  she  knows  it ;  for  one  day  she  was  taken  ill, 
and  fainted,  and  we  put  her  upon  one  of  oiir  beds,  and  got 
her  everything  we  could  think  of  ourselves,  and  let  nobody 
else  wait  upon  her ;  and  when  she  revived  she  said  to  my 
brotlier,  '  These  are  my  sisters  —  I  am  sure  they  are  !  they 
must  be  my  own  ! '  " 

Our  next  and  last  interruption,  I  think,  was  from  a  very 
gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  "  May  I  come  in  ?  "  from  a 
soft  voice,  while  the  lock  was  turned,  and  a  youthful  and 
very  lovely  female  put  in  her  head.  The  Princess  imme- 
diately rose,  and  said,  "  0  yes,"  and  held  out  her  two  hands 
to  her;  turning  at  the  same  time  to  me,  and  saying,  "  Prin- 
cess Sophia." 

I  found  it  was  the  Duke  of  Gloucester's  daughter.  She 
is  very  fat,  with  very  fine  eyes,  a  bright,  even  dazzling 
bloom,  fine  teeth,  a  beautiful  skin,  and  a  look  of  extreme 
modesty  and  sweetness.  She  curtseyed  to  me  so  distin- 
guishingly,  that  I  was  almost  confused  by  her  condesccTi- 
sion,  fearing  she  might  imagine,  from  finding  me  seated 
with  the  Princess  Augusta,  and  in  such  close  conference,  1 
was  somebody. 


380  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1797. 

"  You  look  so  fine  and  so  grand,"  cried  she,  examining  the 
Princess's  attire,  which  was  very  superb  in  silver  and  dia- 
monds ;  "  that  I  am  almost  afraid  to  come  near  you  ! "  Her 
own  dress  was  perfectly  simple,  though  remarkably  elegant. 

"0  ! —  I  hate  myself  when  so  fine  ! "  cried  Princess  Au- 
gusta ;  "  I  cannot  bear  it ;  but  there  is  no  help  —  the  peo- 
ple at  the  play  always  expect  it."  They  then  conversed  a 
little  while,  both  standing;  and  then  Princess  Augusta 
said,  "Give  my  love  to  the  Duke"  (meaning  of  Gloucester), 
"  and  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  by-and-by  ;  and  to  William  " 
(meaning  the  Duke's  son). 

And  this,  which  was  not  a  positive  request  that  she 
would  not  prolong  her  visit,  was  understood  ;  and  the 
lovely  cousin  made  her  curtsey,  and  retired.  To  me,  again, 
she  made  another,  so  gravely  low  and  civil,  that  I  really 
blushed  to  receive  it,  from  added  fear  of  being  mistaken. 
I  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  and  shut  it  for  her ;  and 
the  moment  she  was  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  sight  of 
the  Princess  Augusta,  she  turned  round  to  me,  and  with 
a  smile  of  extreme  civility,  and  a  voice  very  soft,  said,  "  I 
am  so  happy  to  see  you  !  —  I  have  longed  for  it  a  great, 
great  while  —  for  I  have  read  you  with  such  delight  and 
instruction,  so  often  ! "  I  was  very  much  surprised  indeed  : 
I  expressed  my  sense  of  her  goodness  as  well  as  I  could ; 
and  she  curtseyed  again,  and  glided  away. 

My  charming  Princess  again  made  me  take  my  seat 
next  her  own,  and  again  renewed  her  discourse. 

I  stayed  on  with  this  delightful  Princess  till  near  four 
o'clock,  when  she  descended  to  dinner.  I  tlien  accom- 
panied her  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  saying,  "I  feel  quite 
low  that  this  is  over!  How  I  wish  it  might  be  repeated 
in  half  a  year  instead  of  a  year  !  " 

"  I  'm  sure  and  so  do  I  ! "  were  the  last  kind  words  she 
condescendingly  uttered. 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  381 

I  then  made  a  little  visit  to  Miss  Planta,  who  was  ex- 
tremely friendly,  and  asked  me  why  I  should  wait  another 
year  before  I  came.  I  told  her  I  had  leave  for  an  annual 
visit,  and  could  not  presume  to  encroach  beyond  such  a 
permission.  However,  as  she  proposed  my  calling  upon 
her,  at  least  when  I  happened  to  be  in  town  or  at  Chelsea, 
I  begged  her  to  take  some  opportunity  to  hint  my  wish  of 
admission,  if  possible,  more  frequently. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  the  play  with  James  and  Ma- 
rianne. It  was  a  new  comedy  called  "  Cheap  Living,"  by 
Eeynolds  or  Morton,  and  full  of  absurdities,  but  at  times 
irresistibly  comic. 

Very  soon  afterwards  I  had  a  letter  from  Miss  Planta, 
saying  she  had  mentioned  to  her  Majesty  my  regret  of  the 
long  intervals  of  annual  admissions ;  and  that  her  Majesty 
had  most  graciously  answered,  "  She  should  be  very  glad 
to  see  me  whenever  I  came  to  town." 

January  18, 1798. — And  now  I  have  to  prepare  another 
Court  relation  for  my  dearest  Susanna. 

I  received  on  Wednesday  morn  a  letter  from  our  dearest 
father,  telling  me  he  feared  he  should  be  forced  to  quit  his 
Chelsea  apartments,  from  a  new  arrangement  among  the 
officers,  and  wishing  me  to  represent  his  difficulties,  his 
books,  health,  time  of  life,  and  other  circumstances,  through 
Miss  Planta,  to  the  Queen.  M.  d'Arbla}'  and  I  both 
thought  that,  if  I  had  any  chance  of  being  of  the  smallest 
use,  it  would  be  by  endeavoring  to  obtain  an  audience  — 
not  by  letter ;  and  as  the  most  remote  hope  of  success  was 
sufficient  to  urge  every  exertion,  we  settled  that  I  should 
set  out  instantly  for  Chelsea ;  and  a  chaise,  therefore,  we 
sent  for  from  Dorking,  and  I  set  off  at  noon.  M.  d'A. 
would  not  go,  as  we  knew  not  what  accommodation  I  might 
find ;  and  I  could  not,  uninvited  and  unexpected,  take  my 


382  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

little  darling  boy ;  so  I  went  not  merrily,  though  never 
more  willingly. 

My  dear  father  was  at  home,  and,  I  could  see,  by  no 
means  surprised  by  my  appearance,  though  he  had  not 
hinted  at  desiring  it.  Of  course  he  was  not  very  angry 
nor  sorry,  and  we  communed  together  upon  his  apprehen- 
sions, and  settled  our  plan.  I  was  to  endeavor  to  represent 
his  case  to  the  Queen,  in  hopes  it  might  reach  his  Majesty, 
and  procure  some  order  in  his  fkvor. 

I  wrote  to  Miss  Planta,  merely  to  say  I  was  come  to 
pass  three  days  at  Chelsea,  and,  presuming  upon  the 
gracious  permission  of  her  Majesty,  I  ventured  to  make 
known  my  arrival,  in  the  hope  it  might  possibly  procure 
me  the  honor  of  admittance. 

The  next  morning,  Thursday,  I  had  a  note  from  Miss 
Planta,  to  say  that  she  had  the  pleasure  to  acquaint  me 
her  Majesty  desired  I  would  be  at  the  Queen's  house  next 
day  at  ten  o'clock. 

Miss  Planta  conducted  me  immediately,  by  order,  to  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  who  received  me  alone,  and  kept  me 
tete-a-tete  till  I  was  summoned  to  the  Queen,  which  was 
near  an  hour.  She  was  all  condescension  and  openness, 
and  inquired  into  my  way  of  life  and  plans,  with  a  sort  of 
kindness  that  I  am  sure  belonged  to  a  real  wish  to  find 
them  happy  and  prosperous.  When  I  mentioned  how 
much  of  our  time  was  mutually  given  to  books  and  writ- 
ing, M.  d'Arblay  being  as  great  a  scribbler  as  myself,  she 
good-naturedly  exclaimed,  "  How  fortunate  he  should  have 
so  mucli  the  same  taste  ' " 

"  It  was  that,  in  fact,"  I  answered,  "  which  united  us ; 
for  our  acquaintance  began,  in  intimacy,  by  reading  French 
together,  and  writing  themes,  both  French  and  English,  for 
each  other's  correction." 

"  Pray,"  cried  she,  "  if  it  is  not  impertinent,  may  I  ask 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  383 

to  what  religion  you  shall  bring  up  your  son  ? "  "  Tlie 
Protestant,"  I  replied ;  telling  her  it  was  M.  d'Arblay's 
own  wish,  since  he  was  an  Englishman  born,  he  should  be 
an  Englishman  bred,  —  with  much  more  upon  the  subject 
that  my  Susan  knows  untold.  She  then  inquired  why  M. 
d'Arblay  was  not  naturalized.  This  was  truly  kind,  tor 
it  looked  like  wishing  our  permanently  fixing  in  this  his 
adopted  country.  I  answered  that  he  found  he  could  not 
be  naturalized  as  a  Catholic,  which  had  made  him  relin- 
quish the  plan ;  for  thoiigh  he  was  firmly  persuaded  the 
real  difference  between  the  two  religions  was  trifling,  and 
such  as  even  appeared  to  him,  in  the  little  he  had  had 
opportunity  to  examine,  to  be  in  favor  of  Protestantism, 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  study  the  matter  with  a 
view  of  changing  that  seemed  actuated  by  interest ;  nor 
could  I  wish  it,  earnest  as  I  was  for  his  naturalization. 
But  he  hoped,  ere  long,  to  be  able  to  be  naturalized  as  an 
Irishman,  that  clause  of  religion  not  being  there  insisted 
upon ;  or  else  to  become  a  denizen,  which  was  next  best, 
and  which  did  not  meddle  with  religion  at  all.  She  made 
me  talk  to  her  a  great  deal  of  my  little  boy,  and  ray  father, 
and  M.  d'Arblay ;  and  when  Miss  Planta  came  to  fetch 
me  to  her  Majesty,  she'  desired  to  see  me  again  before  my 
departure. 

The  Queen  was  in  her  White  Closet,  working  at  a  round 
table,  with  the  four  remaining  Princesses,  Augusta,  Mary, 
Sophia,  and  Amelia.  She  received  me  most  sweetly,  and 
with  a  look  of  far  better  spirits  than  upon  my  last  admis- 
sion. She  permitted  me,  in  the  most  gracious  manner,  to 
inquire  about  the  Princess  Koyal,  now  Duchess  of  Wurtem- 
berg,  and  gave  me  an  account  of  her  that  I  hope  is  not 
flattered  ;  for  it  seemed  happy,  and  such  as  reconciled  them 
all  to  the  separation.  When  she  deigned  to  inquire,  her- 
self, after  my  dear  father,  you  may  be  sure  of  the  eager- 


384  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

ness  with  which  I  seized  the  moment  for  relating  his 
embarrassment  and  difficulties.  She  heard  me  with  a 
benevolence  that  assured  me,  though  she  made  no  speech, 
my  history  would  not  be  forgotten,  nor  remembered  vainly. 
I  was  highly  satisfied  with  her  look  and  manner. 

The  Princesses  Mary  and  Amelia  had  a  little  opening 
between  them  ;  and  when  the  Queen  was  conversing  with 
some  lady  who  was  teaching  the  Princess  Sophia  some 
work,  they  began  a  whispering  conversation  with  me  about 
my  little  boy.  How  tall  is  he  ?  — how  old  is  he  ?  —  is  he 
fat  or  thin  ?  —  is  he  like  you  or  M.  d'Arblay  ?  &c.,  &c.  — 
with  sweet  vivacity  of  interest, — the  lovely  Princess  Amelia 
finishing  her  listening  to  my  every  answer  with  a  "  dear 
little  thing ! "  that  made  me  long  to  embrace  her  as  T  have 
done  in  her  childhood.  She  is  now  full  as  tall  as  Princess 
Eoyal,  and  as  much  formed ;  she  looks  seventeen,  though 
only  fourteen,  but  has  an  innocence,  an  Hebe  blush,  an  air 
of  modest  candor,  and  a  gentleness  so  caressingly  inviting, 
of  voice  and  eye,  that  I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  captivat- 
ing young  creature. 

Then  they  talked  of  my  new  house,  and  inquired  about 
every  room  it  contained  ;  and  then  of  our  grounds,  and 
they  were  mightily  diverted  with  the  mixtures  of  roses  and 
cabbages,  sweet  briers  and  potatoes,  &c.  The  Queen,  catch- 
ing the  domestic  theme,  presently  made  inquiries  herself, 
both  as  to  the  building  and  the  child,  asking,  with  respect 
to  the  latter,  "  Is  he  here  ? "  as  if  she  meant  in  the  palace. 
I  told  her  I  had  come  so  unexpectedly  myself  uj)on  my 
father's  difficulties,  that  I  had  not  this  time  brought  my 
little  shadow.  I  believed,  however,  I  should  fetch  him,  as, 
if  I  lengthened  my  stay,  M.  d'Arblay  would  come  also 
"  To  be  sure  ! "  she  said,  as  if  feeling  the  trio's  full  objec- 
tions to  separating. 

P>y  degrees  all  the  Princesses  retired,  except  the  Princess 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  385 

Augusta.  She  then  spoke  more  openly  upon  less  public 
matters,  —  in  particular  upon  the  affair,  then  just  recent, 
of  the  Duke  of  Norf  jlk,  who,  you  may  have  heard,  had 
drunk,  at  the  Whig  Clul),  "  To  the  majesty  of  the  people  ; " 
in  consSf^uence  of  which  the  King  had  erased  his  name 
from  the  Privy  Council.  His  Grace  had  been  caricatured 
drinking  from  a  silver  tankard,  with  the  burnt  bread  still 
in  flames  touching  his  mouth,  and  exclaiming  "  Pshaw  ! 
my  toast  has  burnt  my  mouth." 

This  led  me  to  speak  of  his  great  brick  house,  which  is 
our  immediate  vis-a-vis.  And  much  then  ensued  upon 
Lady ,  concerning  whom  she  opened  to  me  very  com- 
pletely, allowing  all  I  said  of  her  uncommon  excellence  as 
a  mother,  but  adding,  "  Though  she  is  certainly  very  clever, 
she  thinks  herself  so  a  little  too  much,  and  instructs  others 
at  every  word.  I  was  so  tired  with  her  beginning  every- 
thing with  '  I  think,'  that,  at  last,  just  as  she  said  so,  I 
stopped  her,  and  cried,  *  0,  I  know  what  you  think,  Lady 

! '     Eeally,  one  is  obliged  to  be  quite  sharp  with  her 

to  keep  her  in  her  place." 

Lady  C ,  she  had  been  informed,  had  a  considerable 

sum  in  the  French  funds,  which  she  endeavored  from  time 
to  time  to  recover :  but  upon  her  last  effort,  she  had  the 
following  query  put  to  her  agent  by  order  of  the  Directory  : 
how  much  she  would  have  deducted  from  the  principal,  as 
a  contribution  towards  the  loan  raising  for  the  army  of 

England  ?     If  Lady  C •  were  not  mother-in-law  to  a 

minister  who  sees  the  King  almost  daily,  I  should  think 
this  a  made  story. 

When,  after  about  an  hour  and  a  half's  audience,  she  dis- 
missed me,  she  most  graciously  asked  my  stay  at  Chelsea,  and 
desired  I  would  inform  Miss  Planta  before  I  returned  home. 
This  gave  me  the  most  gratifying  feeling,  and  much  hope 
for  my  dearest  father. 

VOL.  II.  25 


386  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

Eeturning  then,  according  to  my  permission,  to  Princess 
Elizabeth,  she  again  took  up  her  netting,  and  made  me  sit 
by  her.  We  talked  a  good  deal  of  the  new-married  daugh- 
ter of  Lady  Templetown,  and  she  was  happy,  she  said,  to 
hear  from  me  that  the  ceremony  was  perform^  by  her 
own  favorite  Bishop  of  Durham,  for  she  was  sure  a  bless- 
ing would  attend  his  joining  their  hands.  She  asked  me 
much  of  my  little  man,  and  told  me  several  things  of  the 
Princess  Charlotte,  her  niece,  and  our  future  Queen  ;  she 
seems  very  fond  of  her,  and  says  't  is  a  lovely  child,  and 
extremely  like  the  Prince  of  Wales.  "  She  is  just  two 
years  old,"  said  she,  "  and  speaks  very  prettily,  though  not 
plainly.  I  flatter  myself  Aunt  Liby,  as  she  calls  me,  is  a 
great  lavorite  with  her." 

My  dearest  Princess  Augusta  soon  after  came  in,  and, 
after  staying  a  few  minutes,  and  giving  some  message  to 
her  sister,  said,  "  And  when  you  leave  Elizabeth,  my  dear 
Madame  d'Arblay,  I  hope  you  '11  come  to  me."  This  hap- 
pened almost  immediately,  and  I  found  her  hurrying  over 
the  duty  of  her  toilette,  whicli  she  presently  despatched, 
though  she  was  going  to  a  public  concert  of  Ancient  Music, 
and  without  scarcely  once  looking  in  the  glass,  from  haste 
to  have  done,  and  from  a  freedom  from  vanity  I  never  saw 
quite  equalled  in  any  young  woman  of  any  class.  She 
then  dismissed  her  hair-dresser  and  wardrobe-woman,  and 
made  me  sit  by  her. 

Almost  immediately  we  began  upon  the  voluntary  con- 
tributions to  the  support  of  the  war ;  and  when  I  mentioned 
the  Queen's  munificent  donation  of  live  thousand  pounds 
a-year  for  its  support,  and  my  admiration  of  it,  from  my 
peculiar  knowledge,  through  my  long  residence  under  the 
Royal  roof,  of  the  many  claims  which  her  Majesty's  benev- 
olence, as  well  as  state,  had  raised  upon  her  powers,  she 
seemed  much  gratified  by  the  justice  I  did   her   Pioyal 


1798.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  387 

mother,  and  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  I  do  assure  you,  my  dear 
Madame  d'Arblay,  people  ought  to  know  more  how  good 
the  Queen  is,  for  they  don't  know  it  half. "  And  then  she 
told  me  that  she  only  by  accident  had  learnt  almost  all 
that  she  knew  of  the  Queen's  bounties.  "  And  the  most  I 
gathered,"  she  continued,  laughing,  "  was,  to  tell  you  the 
real  truth,  by  my  own  impertinence ;  for  when  we  were  at 
Cheltenham,  Lady  Courtown  (the  Queen's  lady-in-waiting 
for  the  country)  put  her  pocket-book  down  on  the  table, 
when  I  was  alone  with  her,  by  some  chance  open  at  a  page 
where  mamma's  name  was  written  :  so,  not  guessing  at  any 
secret  commission,  I  took  it  up,  and  read  —  Given  by  Her 
Majesty's  commands  —  so  much,  and  so  much,  and  so 
much.  And  I  was  quite  surprised.  However,  Lady  Cour- 
town made  me  promise  never  to  mention  it  to  the  Queen  : 
so  I  never  have.  But  I  long  it  should  be  known,  for  all 
that ;  though  I  would  not  take  such  a  liberty  as  to  spread 
it  of  my  own  judgment." 

I  then  mentioned  my  o^^^l  difficulties  formerly,  when 
her  Majesty,  upon  my  ill  state  of  health's  urging  my 
resigning  the  honor  of  belonging  to  the  Eoyal  household, 
so  graciously  settled  upon  me  my  pension,  that  I  had  been 
forbidden  to  name  it.  I  had  been  quite  distressed  in  not 
avowing  what  I  so  gratefully  felt,  and  hearing  questions 
and  surmises  and  remarks  I  had  no  power  to  answer.  She 
seemed  instantly  to  comprehend  that  my  silence  might  do 
wrong,  on  such  an  occasion,  to  the  Queen,  for  she  smiled, 
and  with  great  quickness  cried,  "  0,  I  dare  say  you  felt 
quite  guilty  in  holding  your  tongue."  And  she  was  quite 
pleased  with  the  permission  afterwards  granted  me  to  be 
explicit. 

When  I  spoke  of  her  own  and  her  Eoyal  sisters'  contri- 
butions, £100  per  annum,  she  blushed,  but  seemed  ready 
to  enter  upon  the  subject,  even  confidentially,  and  related 


388  DIAEY   AND   LETTEKS  [1798. 

its  whole  history.  No  one  ever  advised  or  named  it  to 
them,  as  they  have  none  of  them  any  separate  establishment, 
but  all  hang  upon  the  Queen,  from  whose  pin-money  they 
are  provided  for  till  they  marry,  or  have  an  household  of 
their  own  granted  by  Parliament.  "  Yet  we  all  longed  to 
subscribe,"  cried  she,  "  and  thought  it  quite  right,  if  other 
young  ladies  did,  not  to  be  left  out.  But  the  difficulty  was, 
how  to  do  what  would  not  be  improper  for  us,  and  yet  not 
to  be  generous  at  mamma's  expense,  for  that  would  only 
have  been  unjust.  So  we  consulted  some  of  our  friends; 
and  then  fixed  upon  £100  a-piece  ;  and  when  we  asked  the 
Queen's  leave,  she  was  so  good  as  to  approve  it.  So  then 
we  spoke  to  the  King ;  and  he  said  it  was  but  little,  but 
he  wished  particularly  nobody  should  subscribe  what  would 
really  distress  them ;  and  that,  if  that  was  all  we  could 
conveniently  do,  and  regularly  continue,  he  approved  it 
more  than  to  have  us  make  a  greater  exertion,  and  either 
bring  ourselves  into  difficulties  or  not  go  on.  But  he  was 
not  at  all  angry." 

She  then  gave  me  the  history  of  the  contribution  of  her 
brothers.  The  Prince  of  Wales  could  not  give  in  his  name 
without  the  leave  of  his  creditors.  "  But  Ernest,"  cried 
she,  "  gives  £300  a-year,  and  that 's  a  tenth  of  his  income, 
for  the  King  allows  him  £3,000." 

All  this  leading  to  discourse  upon  loyalty,  and  then  its 
contrast,  democracy,  she  narrated  to  me  at  full  length,  a 
lecture  of  Thelwall's  which  had  been  repeated  to  her  by  M. 
de  Guiffardi^re.  It  was  very  curious  from  her  mouth. 
But  she  is  candor  in  its  whitest  purity,  wherever  it  is  pos- 
sible to  display  it,  in  discriminating  between  good  and  bad, 
and  abstracting  rays  of  light  even  from  the  darkest  shades. 
So  she  did  even  from  Thelwall. 

She  made  me,  as  usual,  talk  of  my  little  boy,  and  was 
much  amused  by  hearing  that,  imitating  what  he  heard 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  389 

from  me,  he  called  his  father  "mon  ami"  and  tutoy^'d  him, 
drinking  his  health  at  dinner,  as  his  father  does  to  me  — 
"  d  ta  sant4."  AVheu  at  length  the  Princess  Augusta  gave 
me  the  bow  of  conge,  slie  spoke  of  seeing  me  again  soon  : 
I  said  I  should  therefore  lengthen  my  stay  in  town,  and 
induce  M.  d'Arblay  to  come  and  bring  my  boy. 

"  We  shall  see  you  then  certainly,"  said  she,  smiling, 
"  and  do  pray,  my  dear  Madame  d'Arblay,  bring  your  little 
boy  with  you."  "  And  don't  say  anything  to  him,"  cried 
she,  as  I  was  departing ;  "  let  us  see  him  quite  natural." 

I  understood  her  gracious,  and  let  me  say  rational,  desire, 
that  the  child  should  not  be  impressed  with  any  awe  of 
the  Eoyal  presence.  I  assured  lier  I  must  obey,  for  he  was 
so  young,  so  wild,  and  so  unused  to  present  himself,  except 
as  a  plaything,  that  it  would  not  be  even  in  my  power  to 
make  him  orderly. 

My  dear  father  was  extremely  pleased  with  what  I  had 
to  tell  him,  and  hurried  me  back  to  West  Hamble,  to  pro- 
vide myself  with  baggage  for  sojourning  with  him.  My 
two  Alexanders,  you  will  believe,  w^ere  now  warmly  invited 
to  Chelsea,  and  we  all  returned  thither  together,  accom- 
panied by  Betty  Nurse. 

I  shall  complete  my  next  Court  visit  before  I  enter  upon 
aught  else.  I  received,  very  soon,  a  note  from  Madame 
Bremyere,  who  is  my  successor.  [I  have  told  you  poor 
jNIlle.  Jacobi  is  returned  to  Germany,  I  think  ;  and  that  her 
niece.  La  Bettina,  is  to  marry  a  rich  English  merchant  and 
settle  in  London.]  —  This  note  says  :  "  Mrs.  Bremyere  has 
received  the  Queen's  commands  to  invite  Madame  d'Arblay 
to  the  play  to  morrow  night" — with  her  own  desire  I 
would  drink  coffee  in  her  apartment  before  we  went  to  the 
theatre. 

My  dear  father  lent  me  his  carriage,  and  I  was  now  in- 
troduced to  the  successor   of  Mrs.  Schwellenberfr,   Mile. 


390  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798, 

Bachmeister,  a  German,  brought  over  by  M.  de  Luc,  who 
travelled  into  Germany  to  accompany  her  hither.  I  found 
she  was  the  lady  I  had  seen  with  the  Queen  and  Prin- 
cesses, teaching  some  work.  Not  having  been  to  the 
so-loug-known  apartments  since  the  death  of  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg,  I  knew  not  how  they  were  arranged,  and  had 
concluded  Madame  Bremyere  possessed  those  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg.  Thither,  therefore,  I  went,  and  was.  re- 
ceived, to  my  great  surprise,  by  this  lady,  who  was  equally 
surprised  by  my  entrance,  though  without  any  doubt  M'ho 
I  might  be,  from  having  seen  me  with  the  Queen,  and 
from  knowing  I  was  to  join  the  play-party  to  my  ci-devcmt 
box.  I  inquired  if  I  had  made  a  mistake  ;  but  though 
she  could  not  say  no,  she  would  not  suffer  me  to  rectify 
it,  but  sent  to  ask  Madame  Bremyere  to  meet  me  in  her 
room. 

Mile.  Bachmeister  is  extremely  genteel  in  her  figure, 
though  extremely  plain  in  her  face  ;  her  voice  is  gentle  and 
penetrating ;  her  manners  are  soft,  yet  dignified,  and  she 
appears  to  be  both  a  feeling  and  a  cultivated  character.  I 
could  not  but  lament  such  had  not  been  the  former  pos- 
sessor of  an  apartment  I  had  so  often  entered  with  the 
most  cruel  antipathy.  I  liked  her  exceedingly ;  she  is  a 
marked  gentlewoman  in  her  whole  deportment,  though 
whether  so  from  birth,  education,  or  only  mind,  I  am 
ignorant. 

Since  she  gave  me  so  pleasant  a  prejudice  in  her  favor, 
you  will  be  sure  our  acquaintance  began  with  some  spirit. 
We  talked  much  of  the  situation  she  filled ;  and  I  thought 
it  my  duty  to  cast  the  whole  of  my  resignation  of  one  so 
similar  upon  ill-health.  Mrs.  Bremyere  soon  joined  us, 
and  we  took  up  Miss  Barbara  Planta  in  our  way  to  the 
theatre. 

When  the  King  entered,  followed  by  the  Queen  and  his 


1798.]  OF  -MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  391 

lovely  daughters,  and  the  orchestra  struck  up  "  God  save 
the  King,"  and  the  people  all  called  for  the  singers,  who 
filled  the  stage  to  sing  it,  the  emotion  I  was  suddenly  filled 
with  so  powerfully  possessed  me,  that  I  wished  I  could,  for 
a  minute  or  two,  have  flown  from  the  box,  to  have  sobbed, 
I  was  so  gratefully  delighted  at  the  sight  before  me,  and 
so  enraptured  at  the  continued  enthusiasm  of  the  no  longer 
volatile  people  for  their  worthy,  revered  sovereign,  that  I 
really  suffered  from  the  restraint  I  felt  of  being  forced  to 
behave  decorously. 

The  play  was  the  "  Heir  at  Law,"  by  Colman  the 
younger.  I  liked  it  extremely.  It  has  a  good  deal  of 
character,  a  happy  plot,  much  interest  in  the  under  parts, 
and  is  combined,  I  think,  by  real  genius,  though  open  to 
innumerable  partial  criticisms. 

I  heard  a  gentleman's  voice  from  the  next  box  call  softly 
to  Miss  Barbara  Planta,  "  Who  is  that  lady  ? "  and  heard 
her  answer  my  name,  and  him  rejoin  "  I  thought  so."  I 
found  it  was  Lord  Aylesbury,  who  also  has  resigned,  and 
was  at  the  play  only  for  the  pleasure  of  sitting  opposite 
his  late  Royal  mistress. 

About  a  week  after  this  theatrical  regale,  I  went  to  the 
Queen's  house,  to  make  known  I  had  only  a  few  more 
days  to  remain  at  Chelsea,  t  arrived  just  as  the  Royal 
Family  had  set  out  for  Windsor ;  but  Miss  Bachmeister, 
fortunately,  had  only  ascended  her  coach  to  follow.  I 
alighted,  and  went  to  tell  my  errand.  Mrs.  Bremyere, 
Mrs.  Cheveley,  and  Miss  Planta  were  her  party.  The 
latter  promised  to  speak  for  me  to  the  Queen ;  but,  gather- 
ing I  had  my  little  boy  in  my  father's  carriage,  she  made 
me  send  for  him.  They  took  him  in,  and  loaded  him  with 
bonbons  and  admiration,  and  would  have  loaded  him  with 
caresses  to  boot,  but  the  little  wretch  resisted  that  part  of 
the  entertainment. 


392  DIARY   AND    LETTEES  [1798. 

Upon  their  return  from  Windsor,  you  will  not  sup- 
pose me  made  very  unhappy  to  receive  the  following 
billet :  — 

March  8th,  1798. 

My  dear  Friend, —  The  Queen  has  commanded  me  to 
acquaint  you  that  she  desires  you  will  be  at  the  Queen's 
house  on  Thursday  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  with  your  lovely 
boy.  You  are  desired  to  come  upstairs  in  Princess  Eliza- 
beth's apartments,  and  Her  Majesty  will  send  for  you  as 
soon  as  she  can  see  you.  Adieu  !  Yours  most  affection- 
ately, M.  Planta. 

A  little  before  ten,  you  will  easily  believe,  we  were  at 
the  Queen's  house,  and  were  immediately  ushered  into  the 
apartment  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who,  to  show  she 
expected  my  little  man,  had  some  playthings  upon  one  of 
her  many  tables ;  for  her  Pioyal  Highness  has  at  least 
twenty  in  her  principal  room.  The  child,  in  a  new  muslin 
frock,  sash,  &c.,  did  not  look  to  much  disadvantage,  and  she 
examined  him  with  the  most  good-humored  pleasure,  and, 
finding  him  too  shy  to  be  seized,  had  the  graciousness,  as 
well  as  sense,  to  play  round,  and  court  him  by  sportive 
wiles,  instead  of  being  offended  at  his  insensibility  to  her 
Eoyal  notice.  She  ran  about  the  room,  peeped  at  him 
through  chairs,  clapped  her  hands,  half  caught  without 
touching  him,  and  showed  a  skill  and  a  sweetness  that 
made  one  almost  sigh  she  should  have  no  call  for  her 
maternal  propensities. 

There  came    in    presently  Miss  D ,  a   young  lady 

about  thirteen,  who  seems  in  some  measure  under  the 
protection  of  her  Pioyal  Highness,  who  had  rescued  her 
poor  injured  and  amiable  mother.  Lady  D ,  from  ex- 
treme distress,  into  which  she  had  been  involved  by  her 
unworthy  husband's  connection  with  the  infamous  Lady 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  393 

W ,  who,  more   hard-hearted  than  even  bailiffs,  had 

forced  certain  of  those  gentry,  in  an  execution  she  had 
ordered  in  Sir  H.  D 's  house,  to  seize  even  all  the  chil- 
dren's playthings  !  as  well  as  their  clothes,  and  that  when 

Lady  D had  but  just  lain  in,  and  was  nearly  dying  ! 

This  charming  Princess,  who  had  been  particularly  ac- 
quainted with  Lady  D ,  during  her  own  illness  at  Kew 

Palace,  where  the  Queen  permitted  the  intercourse,  came 
forward  upon  this  distress,  and  gave  her  a  small  inde- 
pendent house,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Kew,  with  every 
advantage  she  could  annex  to  it.  But  she  is  now  lately 
no  more,  and,  by  the  sort  of  reception  given  to  her  daugh- 
ter, I  fancy  the  Princess  transfers  to  her  that  kind  benevo- 
lence the  mother  no  longer  wants. 

Just  then,  IMiss  Planta  came  to  summon  us  to  the  Prin- 
cess Augusta.  She  received  me  witli  her  customary  sweet- 
ness, and  called  the  little  boy  to  her.  He  went  fearfully 
and  cautiously,  yet  with  a  look  of  curiosity  at  the  state  of 
her  head,  and  the  operations  of  her  friseur,  that  seemed  to 
draw  liim  on  more  powerfully  than  her  commands.  He 
would  not,  however,  be  touched,  always  flying  to  my  side 
at  the  least  attempt  to  take  his  hand.  This  would  much 
have  vexed  me,  if  I  had  not  seen  the  ready  allowance  she 
made  for  his  retired  life,  and  total  want  of  use  to  the  sight 
of  anybody  out  of  our  family,  except  the  Lockes,  amongst 
whom  I  told  her  his  peculiar  preference  for  Amelia. 
"Come  then,"  cried  she,  "come  hither,  my  dear,  and  tell  me 
about  her,  —  is  she  very  good  to  you  ?  —  do  you  like  her 
very  much  ? "  He  was  now  examining  her  fine  carpet,  and 
no  answer  was  to  be  procured.  I  would  have  apologized, 
but  she  would  not  let  me.  "  'T  is  so  natural,"  she  cried, 
"  that  he  should  be  more  amused  with  those  shapes  and 
colors  than  with  my  stupid  questions." 

Princess  Mary  now  came  in,  and  earnestly  looking  at 


394  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

him,  exclaimed,  "  He 's  beautiful !  —  what  eyes  !  —  do  look 
at  his  eyes  !" 

"  Come  hither,  my  dear,"  again  cried  Princess  Augusta, 
"  come  hither  ; "  and,  catching  him  to  her  for  a  moment, 
and  holding  up  his  hair,  to  lift  up  his  face,  and  make  him 
look  at  her,  she  smiled  very  archly,  and  cried,  "  0  horrid 
eyes  !  —  shocking  eyes  !  — ■  take  them  away  ! " 

Princess  Elizabeth  then  entered,  attended  by  a  page, 
who  was  loaded  with  playthings,  which  she  had  been  send- 
ing for.  You  may  suppose  him  caught  now  !  He  seized 
upon  dogs,  horses,  chaise,  a  cobbler,  a  watchman,  and  all 
he  could  grasp ;  but  would  not  give  his  little  person  or 
cheeks,  to  my  great  confusion,  for  any  of  them.  I  was 
fain  to  call  him  a  little  savage,  a  wild  deer,  a  creature  just 
caught  from  the  woods,  and  whatever  could  indicate  his 
rustic  life  and  apprehension  of  new  faces,  —  to  prevent 
their  being  hurt ;  and  their  excessive  good  nature  helped 
all  my  excuses,  nay,  made  them  needless,  except  to  myself. 

Princess  Elizabeth  now  began  playing  upon  jin  organ 
slie  had  brought  him,  which  he  flew  to  seize.  "  Ay,  do  ! 
that 's  right,  my  dear ! "  cried  Princess  Augusta,  stopping 
her  ears  at  some  discordant  sounds  :  "  take  it  to  7no')i  ami, 
to  frighten  the  cats  out  of  his  garden." 

And  now,  last  of  all,  came  in  Princess  Amelia,  and, 
strange  to  relate  !  the  child  was  instantly  delighted  with 
her  !  She  came  first  up  to  me,  and,  to  my  inexpressible 
surprise  and  enchantment  she  gave  me  her  sweet,  beauti- 
ful face  to  kiss  !  —  an  honor  I  had  thought  now  for  ever 
over,  though  she  had  so  frequently  gratified  me  with  it  for- 
merly. Still  more  touched,  however,  than  astonished,  I 
would  have  kissed  her  hand,  but,  withdrawing  it,  saying, 
"  No,  no,  —  you  know  I  hate  that !  "  she  again  presented 
me  her  ruby  lips,  and  with  an  expression  of  such  ingen- 
uous sweetness  and  innocence  as  was  truly  captivating. 


1798.]  OF   MADAME    D'APBLAY.  395 

She  is  and  will  be  another  Princess  Augusta.  She  then 
turned  to  the  child,  and  his  eyes  met  hers  with  a  look  of 
the  same  pleasure  that  they  were  sought.  She  stooped 
down  to  take  his  unresisting  hands,  and,  exclaiming,  "  Dear 
little  thing  ! "  took  him  in  her  arms,  to  his  own  as  obvious 
content  as  hers. 

"  He  likes  her  !  "  cried  Princess  Augusta ;  "  a  little 
rogue  !  see,  how  he  likes  her  ! " 

"  Dear  little  thing  !  "  with  double  the  emphasis,  repeated 
the  young  Princess,  now  sitting  down  and  taking  him  upon 
her  knee  ;  "  and  how  does  M.  d'Arblay  do  ?  "  The  child 
now  left  all  his  new  playthings,  his  admired  carpet,  and 
his  privilege  of  jumping  from  room  to  room,  for  the  gentle 
pleasure  of  sitting  in  her  lap  and  receiving  her  caresses.  I 
could  not  be  very  angry,  you  will  believe,  yet  I  would  have 
given  the  world  if  I  could  have  made  him  equally  grateful 
to  the  Princess  Augusta.  This  last  charming  personage,  I 
now  found,  was  going  to  sit  for  her  picture  —  I  fancy  to 
send  to  the  Duchess  of  Wiirtemberg.  She  gave  me  leave 
to  attend  her,  with  my  bantling.  The  other  Princesses 
retired  to  dress  for  court. 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  I  could  part  my  little  love 
from  his  grand  collection  of  new  playthings,  all  of  which 
he  had  dragged  into  the  painting-room,  and  wanted  now 
to  pull  them  downstairs  to  the  Queen's  apartment.  I  per- 
suaded him,  however,  to  relinquisli  the  design  without  a 
quarrel,  by  promising  we  would  return  for  them.  I  was 
not  a  little  anxious,  you  will  believe,  in  this  presentation 
of  my  unconsciously  honored  rogue,  who  entered  the  Wiiite 
Closet  totally  unimpressed  with  any  awe,  and  only  with  a 
sensation  of  disappointment  in  not  meeting  again  the  gay 
young  party,  and  variety  of  playthings,  he  had  left  above. 
The  Queen,  nevertheless,  was  all  condescending  indulgence, 
and  had  a  Noah's  ark  ready  displayed  upon  the  table  for 


396  DIARY  AND   LETTEES  [1798. 

liim.  But  her  look  was  serious  and  full  of  care,  and, 
though  perfectly  gracious,  none  of  her  winning  smiles 
brightened  her  countenance,  and  her  voice  was  never  cheer- 
ful. I  have  since  known  that  the  Irish  conspiracy  with 
France  was  just  then  discovered,  and  O'Connor  that  very 
morning  taken.  No  wonder  she  should  have  felt  a  shock 
that  pervaded  her  whole  mind  and  manners  '  If  we  all  are 
struck  ^^'ith  horror  at  such  developments  of  treason,  danger, 
and  guilt,  what  must  they  prove  to  the  Eoyal  Family,  at 
whom  they  are  regularly  aimed  ?  How  my  heart  has  ached 
for  them  in  that  horrible  business  ! 

"  And  how  does  your  papa  do  ?  "  said  the  Queen. 

"  He  's  at  Telsea,"  answered  the  child. 

"  And  how  does  grandpapa  do  ?  " 

"  He  's  in  the  toach,"  he  replied. 

"  And  what  a  pretty  frock  you  've  got  on !  who  made  it 
you,  mamma,  or  little  aunty  ?  " 

The  little  boy  now  grew  restless,  and  pulled  me  about, 
with  a  desire  to  change  his  situation.  I  was  a  good  deal 
embarrassed,  as  I  saw  the  Queen  meant  to  enter  into  con- 
versation as  usual ;  which  I  knew  to  be  impossible,  unless 
he  had  some  entertainment  to  occupy  him.  She  perceived 
this  soon,  and  had  the  goodness  immediately  to  open  Noah's 
ark  herself,  which  she  had  meant  he  should  take  away 
with  him  to  examine  and  possess  at  once.  But  he  Avas 
now  soon  in  raptures ;  and,  as  the  various  animals  were 
produced,  looked  with  a  dc-light  that  danced  in  all  his  fea- 
tures ;  and  when  any  appeared  of  which  he  knew  the 
name,  he  capered  with  joy  ;  such  as,  "  0,  a  tow  [cow]  I" 
But,  at  the  dog,  he  clapped  his  little  hands,  and  running 
close  to  her  Majesty,  leant  upon  her  lap,  exclaiming,  "  0 ; 
it  's  bow  wow  !  " 

"  And  do  you  know  this,  little  man  ? "  said  the  Queen, 
showing  him  a  cat. 


1798.]  OF    MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  397 

"  Yes,"  cried  he,  again  jumping  as  he  leant  upon  her, 
"  its  name  is  tailed  pussey  ! "  And,  at  the  appearance  of 
Noah,  in  a  green  mantle,  and  leaning  on  a  stick,  he  said, 
"  At's  [that's]  the  shepherd's  boy  !  " 

The  Queen  now  inquired  about  my  dear  father,  and 
heard  all  I  had  to  say  relative  to  his  apartments,  with  an 
air  of  interest,  yet  not  as  if  it  was  new  to  her.  I  have 
great  reason  to  believe  the  accommodation  then  arranging, 
and  since  settled,  as  to  his  continuance  in  the  College,  has 
been  deeply  influenced  by  some  Eoyal  hint.  I  know  they 
are  extremely  kind  to  my  dear  father,  and,  though  they 
will  not  openly  command  anything  not  immediately  under 
their  control,  I  have  no  doubt  they  have  made  known  they 
wished  such  an  accommodation  might  be  brought  about. 

I  imagine  she  had  just  heard  of  the  marriage  of  Char- 
lotte, for  she  inquired  after  my  sister  Frances,  whom  she 
never  had  mentioned  before  since  I  quitted  my  post.  I 
was  obliged  briefly  to  relate  the  transaction,  seeking  to 
adorn  it,  by  stating  IMr.  Broome's  being  the  author  of  "  Sim- 
kin's  Letters."  She  agreed  in  their  uncommon  wit  and 
humor. 

My  little  rebel,  meanwhile,  finding  his  animals  were  not 
given  into  his  own  hands,  but  removed  from  their  mis- 
chief, was  struggling  all  this  time  to  get  at  the  Tunbridge- 
ware  of  the  Queen's  work-box,  and,  in  defiance  of  all  my 
efforts  to  prevent  him,  he  seized  one  piece,  which  he  called 
a  hammer,  and  began  violently  knocking  the  table  with  it. 
I  would  fain  have  taken  it  away  silently :  but  he  resisted 
such  grave  authority,  and  so  continually  took  it  back,  that 
the  Queen,  to  my  great  confusion,  now  gave  it  him.  Soon, 
however,  tired  also  of  this,  he  ran  away  from  me  into  the  next 
room,  which  was  their  Majesties'  bed-room  and  in  which 
were  all  the  jewels  ready  to  take  to  St.  James's,  for  the  court 
attire.  I  was  excessively  ashamed,  and  obliged  to  fetch  him 


398  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

back  in  my  arms,  and  there  to  keep  him.  "  Get  down,  little 
man,"  said  the  Queen;  "you  are  too  heavy  for  your  mamma." 

He  took  not  the  smallest  notice  of  this  admonition. 

The  Queen,  accustomed  to  more  implicit  obedience,  re- 
peated it ;  but  he  only  nestled  his  little  head  in  my  neck, 
and  worked  about  his  whole  person,  so  that  I  witli  diffi- 
culty held  him.  The  Queen  now  imagined  he  did  not 
know  whom  she  meant,  and  said,  "  What  does  he  call  you  ? 
Has  he  any  particular  name  for  you  ?  "  He  now  lifted  up 
his  head,  and  before  I  could  answer,  called  out,  in  a  fond- 
ling manner,  "  Mamma,  mamma  !  " 

"  0  ! "  said  she,  smiling,  "  he  knows  who  I  mean  !  " 

His  restlessness  still  interrupting  all  attention,  in  defi- 
ance of  my  earnest  whispers  for  quietness,  she  now  said, 
"  Perhaps  he  is  hungry  ?  "  and  rang  her  bell,  and  ordered  a 
page  to  bring  some  cakes.  He  took  one  with  great  pleas- 
ure, and  was  content  to  stand  down  to  eat  it.  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  nothing  to  say  for  it ;  he  nodded  his  little  head, 
and  composedly  answered,  "  Sanky,  Queen  I "  This  could 
not  help  amusing  her,  nor  me,  neither,  for  I  had  no  expec- 
tation of  quite  so  succinct  an  answer. 

The  carriages  were  now  come  for  St.  James's,  and  the 
Princesses  Augusta  and  Elizabeth  came  into  the  apartment. 
The  little  monkey,  in  a  fit  of  renewed  lassitude  after  his 
cake,  had  flung  himself  on  the  floor,  to  repose  at  his  ease. 
He  rose,  however,  upon  their  appearance,  and  the  sweet 
Princess  Augusta  said  to  the  Queen,  "  He  has  been  so  good 
upstairs,  mamma,  that'  nothing  could  be  better  behaved." 
I  could  have  kissed  her  for  this  instinctive  kindness,  ex- 
cited by  a  momentary  view  of  my  embarrassment  at  his 
little  airs  and  liberties. 

The  Queen  heard  her  wdth  an  air  of  approving,  as  well 
as  understanding  her  motive,  and  spoke  to  me  with  the 
utmost  condescension  of  him,  though  I  cannot   recollect 


1798.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  399 

how,  for  I  was  a  good  deal  fidgeted  lest  he  should  come  to 
some  disgrace  by  any  actual  mischief  or  positive  rebellion. 
I  escaped  pretty  well,  however,  and  they  all  left  us  with 
smiles  and  graciousness. 

When  we  returned  to  the  Queen's  house,  my  father's 
carriage  was  not  arrived,  and  I  was  obliged  to  detain  Mile. 
Bachmeister  in  conversation  for  full  half  an  hour,  while  I 
waited ;  but  it  served  to  increase  my  good  disposition  to 
her.  She  is  really  an  interesting  woman.  Had  she  been 
in  that  place  while  I  belonged  to  the  Queen,  Heaven  knows 
if  I  had  so  struggled  for  deliverance ;  for  poor  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg  so  wore,  wasted,  and  tortured  all  my  little  leisure, 
that  my  time  for  repose  was,  in  fact,  my  time  of  greatest 
labor.  So  all  is  for  the  best !  I  have  escaped  offending 
lastingly  the  Royal  mistress  I  love  and  honor,  and  —  I  live 
at  West  Hamble  with  my  two  precious  Alexanders. 


Madame  d'Arblat/  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

West  Hamble,  August  28,  '98. 

If  I  could  find  words,  —  but  the  language  does  not 
afford  any, — my  dearest,  dearest  Susan,  to  tell  what  this 
final  blow  has  been  to  me,  I  am  sure  I  should  be  a  brute 
to  make  use  of  them ;  but  after  so  much  of  hope,  of  fear, 
of  doubt,  of  terror,  to  be  lifted  up  at  length  to  real  expecta- 
tion, and  only  to  be  hurled  down  to  disappointment !  And 
you  — sweetest  soul!  —  that  can  think  of  anybody  else  in 
such  a  situation  !  —  for  though  your  neighbors  are  so  good, 
Ireland  is  so  unsettled,  in  our  estimation,  that  I  believe 
there  is  hardly  one  amongst  us  would  not  at  least  have 
parted  with  a  little  finger  by  the  hatchet,  to  have  possessed 
you  for  a  few  months  in  England. 

I  write  because  I  must  write,  but  I  am  not  yet  fit  for  it ; 


400  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

I  can  offer  no  fortitude  to  my  Susan,  and  it  is  wrong  to 
offer  anything  else  :  but  I  must  write,  because  I  must  let 
her  see  my  hand,  to  tempt  a  quicker  sight  again  of  her  own 
to  eyes  which  yearn  after  it  incessantly.  Why  did  the 
Major  desire  me  to  look  after  our  old  cottage  at  Bookham  ? 
and  so  obligingly,  so  pleasantly,  so  truly  say  he  was  certain 
of  the  pleasure  he  gave  me  by  the  commission  ?  —  Can  you 
tell  ? 

I  have  many  things  to  say  and  talk  of,  but  they  all  get 
behind  the  present  overbearing,  engrossing  disappointment, 
which  w^ll  take  no  consolation  or  occupation,  except  my 
dear  boy,  who  fortunately  w^as  out  of  the  way  when  I  first 
received  it ;  for  else  he  would  have  used  the  letter  very  ill ; 
when  I  got  that  which  announced  that  you  were  coming, 
the  one  before  the  last,  in  which  the  Major  liimself  wrote 
to  James,  and  which  James  most  kindly  forwarded  to  me 
instantly,  saying,  "We  may  now  expect  to  see  dear  Susan 
in  a  few  days ; "  those  words  from  him,  less  easily  elated 
than  most  of  us,  so  transported  me  that  I  appeared  to  my 
poor  Alex,  in  deep  grief  from  a  powerful  emotion  of  sur- 
prise and  joy,  which  forced  its  way  down  my  cheeks. 

The  little  creature,  who  was  playing  on  the  sofa,  set  up 
a  loud  cry,  and  instantly,  with  a  desperate  impulse,  ran  to 
me,  darted  up  his  little  hands,  before  I  could  imagine  his 
design,  and  seized  the  letter  with  such  violence  that  Tmust 
have  torn  it  to  have  prevented  him :  and  then  he  flew  with 
it  to  the  sofa,  and  rumpling  it  up  in  his  little  hands,  poked 
it  under  the  cushions,  and  then  resolutely  sat  down  upon 
it.  I  was  too  happy  at  that  moment  to  oppose  his  little 
enterprise,  and  he  sat  still  till  my  caresses  and  evident  re- 
establishment  brought  him  to  my  lap.  However,  when  1 
put  him  down  and  made  up  to  the  sofa  for  my  letter,  he 
began  crying  again,  and  flying  to  his  booty,  put  himself 
into  such  an  agony  that  I  was  fain  to  quiet  him  by  waiting 


1798.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  401 

till  I  could  take  it  unobserved ;  yet  he  could  not  express 
himself  better  in  words  than  by  merely  saying,  "  I  don't 
ike  ou  to  ead  a  letter,  mamma  1 "  —  He  had  never  happened 
to  see  me  in  tears  before :  happy  boy  !  —  and  oh,  happy 
mother ! 

The  little  soul  has  a  thousand  traits  of  character  that 
remind  me  of  Norbury,  both  in  what  is  desirable  and  what 
is  fearful ;  for  he  is  not  only  as  sweet,  but  as  impetuous, 
and  already  he  has  the  same  desire  to  hear  me  recount  to 
him  his  own  good  and  bad  conduct  at  the  end  of  the  day 
that  dear  Norbury  had  when  I  visited  Mickleham.  Just 
now,  when  we  took  leave  for  the  night,  he  said,  "And 
what  was  I  to-day,  mamma  ? "  "  Good,  my  dear."  "  But 
what  was  I  to  dinner  ?  "  "A  little  rude."  He  then  looks 
down  very  conscious,  but  raises  his  brightened  eyes,  to  say, 
"  And  what  are  I  now,  mamma  ? "     "  Quite  good,  my  love." 

And  now,  my  beloved  Susan,  I  will  sketch  my  last 
Court  history  of  this  year. 

The  Princess  Amelia,  who  had  been  extremely  ill  since 
my  last  Eoyal  admittance,  of  some  complaint  in  her  knee 
which  caused  spasms  the  most  dreadfully  painful,  was 
now  returning  from  her  sea-bathing  at  Worthing,  and  I 
heard  from  all  around  the  neighborhood  that  her  Koyal 
Highness  was  to  rest  and  stop  one  night  at  Juniper  Hall, 
whither  she  was  to  be  attended  by  Mr.  Keate,  the  sur- 
geon, and  by  Sir  Lucas  Pepys,  who  was  her  physician  at 
Worthing. 

I  could  not  hear  of  her  approaching  so  near  our  habi- 
tation, and  sleeping  within  sight  of  us,  and  be  contented 
without  an  effort  to  see  her ;  yet  I  would  not  distress  Lady 
Eothes  by  an  application  she  would  not  know  how  either 
to  refuse  or  grant,  from  the  established  etiquette  of  bring- 
ing no  one  into  the  presence  of  their  Eoyal  Highnesses 
but  by  the  Queen's  permission.  So  infinitely  sweet,  how- 
voL.  II.  26 


402  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

ever,  that  young  love  of  a  Princess  always  is  to  me,  that  I 
gathered  courage  to  address  a  petition  to  her  Majesty  her- 
self, through  the  medium  of  Miss  Planta,  for  leave  to  pay 
my  homage.  —  I  will  copy  my  answer,  sent  by  return  of 
post. 

My  dear  Friend, — I  have  infinite  pleasure  in  acquaint- 
ing you  that  the  Queen  has  ordered  me  to  say  that  you 
have  her  leave  to  see  dear  Princess  Amelia,  provided  Sir 
Lucas  Pepys  and  Mr,  Keate  permit  it.     &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

With  so  complete  and  honorable  a  credential,  I  now 
scrupled  not  to  address  a  few  lines  to  Lady  Eothes,  telling 
her  my  authority,  to  prevent  any  embarrassment,  for  en- 
treating her  leave  to  pay  my  devoirs  to  the  young  Princess 
on  Saturday  morning, — the  Friday  I  imagined  she  would 
arrive  too  fatigued  to  be  seen.  I  intimated  also  my  wish 
to  bring  my  boy,  not  to  be  presented  unless  demanded,  but 
to  be  put  into  some  closet  where  he  might  be  at  hand  in 
case  of  that  honor.  The  sweet  Princess's  excessive  go-a- 
ciousness  to  him  gave  me  courage  for  this  request.  Lady 
Ptothes  sent  me  a  kind  note  which  made  me  perfectly 
comfortable. 

It  was  the  1st  of  December,  but  a  beautifully  clear  and 
fine  day.     I  borrowed  Mr.  Locke's  carriage. 

Sir  Lucas  came  to  us  immediately,  and  ushered  us  to  the 
breakfast-parlor,  giving  me  the  most  cheering  accounts  of 
the  recovery  of  the  Princess.  Here  I  was  received  by 
Lady  Ptothes,  who  presented  me  to  Lady  Albinia  Cumber- 
land, widow  of  Cumberland  the  author's  only  son,  and  one 
of  the  ladies  of  the  Princesses.  I  found  her  a  peculiarly 
pleasing  woman,  in  voice,  manner,  look,  and  behavior. 

This  introcTuction  over,  I  had  the  pleasure  to  shake 
hands  with  Miss  Goldsworthy,  whom  I  was  very  glad  to 
see  and  who  was  very  cordial  and  kind ;  but  who  is  be- 


1798.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  403 

come,  alas  !  so  dreadfully  deaf,  there  is  no  conversing  with 
her,  but  by  talking  for  a  whole  house  to  hear  every  word ! 
With  this  infirmity,  however,  she  is  still  in  her  first  youth 
and  brightness  compared  with  her  brother ;  wdio,  though  I 
knew  him  of  the  party,  is  so  dreadfully  altered,  that  I  with 
difficulty  could  venture  to  speak  to  him  by  the  name  of 
General  Goldsworthy.  He  has  had  three  or  four  more 
strokes  of  apoplexy  since  I  saw  him. 

I  fancy  he  had  a  strong  consciousness  of  his  alteration, 
for  he  seemed  embarrassed  and  shy,  and  only  bowed  to  me, 
at  first,  without  speaking.  But  I  wore  that  off  afterwards, 
by  chatting  over  old  stories  with  him. 

The  Princess  breakfasted  alone,  attended  by  Mrs.  Cheve- 
ley.  When  this  general  breakfast  was  over.  Lady  Albinia 
retired.  But  in  a  very  few  minutes  she  returned,  and  said, 
"Her  Eoyal  Highness  desires  to  see  Madame  d'Arblay 
and  her  little  boy." 

The  Princess  was  seated  on  a  sofa,  in  a  French  grey 
riding-dress,  with  pink  lapels,  her  beautiful  and  richly 
flowing  and  shining  fair  locks  unornamented.  Her  break- 
fast was  still  before  her,  and  Mrs.  Cheveley  in  waiting. 
Lady  Albinia  announced  me,  and  she  received  me  with  the 
brightest  smile,  calling  me  up  to  her,  and  stopping  my 
profound  reverence,  by  pouting  out  her  sweet  ruby  lips  for 
me  to  kiss. 

She  desired  me  to  come  and  sit  by  her ;  but,  ashamed  of 
so  much  indulgence,  I  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  and  drew  a 
chair  at  a  little  distance.  "  No,  no,"  she  cried,  nodding, 
"  come  here ;  come  and  sit  by  me  here,  my  dear  Madame 
d'Arblay."  I  had  then  only  to  say  't  was  my  duty  to  obey 
her,  and  I  seated  myself  on  her  sofa.  Lady  Albinia,  whom 
she  motioned  to  sit,  took  an  opposite  chair,  and  Mrs. 
Cheveley,  after  we  had  spoken  a  few  words  together, 
retired. 


404  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1798. 

Her  attention  now  was  bestowed  upon  my  Alex.,  who 
required  not  quite  so  much  solicitation  to  take  his  part  of 
the  sofa.  He  came  jumping  and  skipping  up  to  her  Eoyal 
Highness,  with  such  gay  and  merry  antics,  that  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  be  diverted  with  so  sudden  a  change  from 
his  composed  and  quiet  behavior  in  the  other  room.  He 
seemed  enchanted  to  see  her  again,  and  I  was  only  alarmed 
lest  he  should  skip  upon  her  poor  knee  in  his  caressing 
agility. 

I  bid  him,  in  vain,  however,  repeat  Ariel's  "  Come  unto 
these  Yellow  Sands,"  which  he  can  say  very  prettily ;  he 
began,  and  the  Princess,  who  knew  it,  prompted  him  to  go 
on  ;  but  a  fit  of  shame  came  suddenly  across  him  —  or  of 
capriciousness  —  and  he  would  not  continue. 

Lady  Albinia  soon  after  left  the  room  ;  and  the  Princess, 
then,  tui-ning  hastily  and  eagerly  to  me,  said,  "  Now  we 
are  alone,  do  let  me  ask  you  one  question,  Madame  d'Ar- 
blay  —  Are  you  —  are  you  —  [looking  with  strong  expres- 
sion to  discover  her  answer]  writing  anything  ? " 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  but  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Upon  your  honor  ? "  she  cried  earnestly,  and  looking 
disappointed.  This  was  too  hard  an  interrogatory  for  eva- 
sion ;  and  I  was  forced  to  say  —  the  truth  —  that  I  was 
about  nothing  I  had  yet  fixed  if  or  not  I  should  ever  finish, 
but  that  I  was  rarely  without  some  project.  This  seemed 
to  satisfy  and  please  her. 

I  told  her  of  my  liaving  seen  the  Duke  of  Clarence  at 
Leatherhead  fair.  "  What,  William  ? "  she  cried,  surprised. 
This  unaffected,  natural  way  of  naming  her  brothers  and 
sisters  is  infinitely  pleasing.  She  took  a  miniature  from 
her  pocket,  and  said,  "  I  must  show  you  Meney's  picture," 
meaning  Princess  Mary,  whom  she  still  calls  Meney, 
because  it  was  the  name  she  gave  her  when  unable  to  pro- 
nounce Mary  —  a  time  she  knew  I  well  remembered.     It 


1799.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  405 

was  a  very  sweet  miniature,  and  extremely  like.  "  Ah  ! 
what  happiness,"  I  cried,  "  your  Eoyal  Highness  will  feel, 
and  give,  upon  returning  to  their  ]\Iajesties  and  their  Eoyal 
Highnesses,  after  such  an  absence,  and  such  sufferings  ! " 
"  Oh  !  yes  !  —  I  shall  be  so  glad  !  "  she  cried,  and  then  Lady 
Albinia  came  in  and  whispered  her  it  was  time  to  admit 
Lady  Eothes,  who  then  entered  with  Lady  Harriet  and  the 
Miss  Leslies. 

When  she  was  removing,  painfully  lifted  from  her  seat 
between  Sir  Lucas  and  Mr.  Keate,  she  stopped  to  pay  her 
compliments  and  thanks  to  Lady  Eothes  with  a  dignity 
and  self-command  extremely  striking.-^  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

August  14th,  '99. 
I  know  that  my  beloved  Susan  did  not  mean  I  should 
see  her  true  account  of  her  precious  health  ;  but  it  arrived 

1  This  sweet  j'oung  Princess  died  in  1811,  after  long  suffering,  patiently 
endured.  She  was  the  favorite  child  of  her  father,  whose  hopeless  derange- 
ment dated  from  the  day  on  which  her  death  was  announced  to  him.  The 
.simple  and  touching  verses  which  follow  are  attributed  to  her  pen  :  — 

"  Unthinking,  idle,  vain,  and  young, 
I  laughed  and  danced  and  played  and  sung, 
And,  proud  of  health,  of  freedom  vain. 
Dreamt  not  of  sickness,  care,  nor  pain  ; 
Concluding,  in  those  hours  of  glee, 
That  the  whole  world  was  made  for  me. 

"  But  when  the  hour  of  trial  came. 

When  sickness  racked  this  trembling  frame. 
When  folly's  gay  pursuit  was  o'er. 
And  I  could  laugh  and  sing  no  more,  — 
It  then  occurred,  how  sad  't  would  be 
If  the  whole  world  were  made  for  me  !  " 


406  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1799. 

at  West  Hamble  wliile  Esther  was  there,  and  it  has  been 
engraven  on  my  heart  in  saddest  characters  ever  since. 
The  degree  in  which  it  makes  me  —  I  had  almost  said  — 
wretched,  would  be  crael  to  dwell  upon  ;  but  had  the  letter 
finished  as  it  began,  I  must  have  surely  applied  for  a 
passport,  without  which  there  is  now  no  visiting  Ireland. 
In  case,  my  sweet  soul,  you  are  relapsed,  or  do  not  continue 
improving,  tell  me  if  there  is  any  way  I  can  manage  to 
make  a  surprise  give  no  shock  of  horror  where  I  have 
no  expectation  of  giving  pleasure  ?  I  would  not  offend, 
nor  add  to  my  beloved's  hard  tasks,  God  knows  !  Should 
I  write  the)^e,  in  that  case,  for  leave  ?  or  what  do  ?  At 
all  events,  and  if  the  recovery  continues,  give  me  a  hint 
or  two,  I  entreat.  I  consult  no  one  here  ;  I  must  do  sucli 
a  deed  by  storm ;  I  am  sure  of  consent  to  everything  that 
my  happiness  and  peace  demand,  from  the  only  one  who 
can  lawfully  control  me, —  and  that  is  enough.      F.  d'A. 


Madame  A'' Arblay  to  Mrs.  Phillips. 

AVest  Hamble,  December  10th,  '99. 
0  my  Susan,  my  heart's  dear  sister !  with  what  bitter 
sorrow  have  I  read  this  last  account !  With  us,  with  your- 
self, your  children,  —  all,  —  you  have  trifled  in  respect  to 
health,  though  in  all  things  else  you  are  honor  and  veracity 
personified ;  but  nothing  had  prepared  me  to  think  you  in 
such  a  state  as  I  now  fijid  you.  Would  to  God- 1  could 
get  to  you  !  If  Mr.  Keirnan  thinks  you  had  best  pass  the 
winter  in  Dublin,  stay,  and  let  me  come  to  you.  Venture 
nothing  against  his  opinion,  for  mercy's  sake  '  Fears  for 
your  health  take  place  of  all  impatience  to  expedite  your 
return  ;  only  go  not  back  to  Belcotton,  where  you  cannot 
be  under  his  direction,  and  are  away  from  tlie  physician  he 
thinks  of  so  highly. 


1800.]  OF  MADAME  d'aEBLAY.  407 

I  sball  write  immediately  to  Charles  about  the  carriage. 
I  am  sure  of  his  answer  beforehand,  —  so  must  you  be. 
Act,  therefore,  with  regard  to  the  carriage,  as  if  already  it 
were  arranged.  But  I  am  well  aware  it  must  not  set  out 
till  you  are  well  enough  to  nearly  fix  your  day  of  sailing.  I 
say  nearly,  for  we  must  always  allow  for  accidents.  I  shall 
write  to  our  dear  father,  and  Etty,  and  James,  and  send  to 
Norbury  Park ;  but  I  shall  wait  till  to-morrow,  not  to  in- 
fect them  with  what  I  am  infected. 

How  I  love  that  charming  Augusta  !  —  tell  her  so  ;  I  am 
almost  tempted  to  write  to  her,  and  to  Mrs.  Disney,  and  to 
Mr.  Keirnan.  I  expect  everybody  to  love  and  be  kind  to 
my  Susan  :  yet  I  love  and  cherish  them  for  it  as  if  it  were 
any  wonder. 

O  my  Susan  !  that  I  could  come  to  you  !  But  all  must 
depend  on  Mr.  Keirnan's  decision.  If  you  can  come  to  us 
with  perfect  safety,  however  slowly,  I  shall  not  dare  add 
to  your  embarrassment  of  persons  and  package.  Else, 
Charles's  carriage  —  0,  what  a  temptation  to  air  it  for  you 
all  the  way !  Take  no  more  large  paper,  that  you  may 
write  with  less  fatigue,  and,  if  possible,  oftener  :  —  to  any 
one  will  sufiice  for  all    Yours  affectionately,         F.  d'A. 


Madame  d^Arblay  to  Br.  Burney. 

9th  January,  1800. 

My  most  dear  Padre, —  My  mate  will  say  all  say, —  so 
I  can  only  offer  up  my  earnest  prayers  I  may  soon  be 
allowed  the  blessing  —  the  only  one  I  sigh  for  —  of  em- 
bracing my  dearest  Susan  in  your  arms  and  under  your 
roof.     Amen.  E.  dA. 

These  were  the  last  written  lines  of  the  last  period  — 
unsuspected  as  such  —  of  my  perfect  happiness  on  earth  ; 


408  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1800. 

for  they  were  stopped  on  the  road  by  news  that  my  heart's 
beloved  sister,  Susanna  Elizabeth  Phillips,  had  ceased  to 
breathe.  The  tenderest  of  huslmnds  —  the  most  feeling  of 
human  beings  —  had  only  reached  Norbury  Park,  on  his 
way  to  a  believed  meeting  with  that  angel,  when  the  fatal 
blow  was  struck  ;  and  he  came  back  to  West  Hamble  —  to 
the  dreadful  task  of  revealing  the  irreparable  loss  which 
his  own  goodness,  sweetness,  patience,  and  sympathy  coidd 
alone  have  made  supported. 


Madame  d^ Arhlay  to  Mm.  Locke. 

9th  January,  1800. 

"  As  a  guardian  angel  ! "  —  Yes,  my  dearest  Fredy,  as 
such  in  every  interval  of  despondence  I  have  looked  up  to 
the  sky  to  see  her  ;  but  my  eyes  cannot  pierce  through  the 
thick  atmosphere,  and  I  can  only  represent  her  to  me  seated 
on  a  chair  of  sickness,  her  soft  hand  held  partly  out  to  me  as 
I  approach  her ;  her  softer  eyes  so  greeting  me  as  never 
welcome  was  expressed  before  ;  and  a  smile  of  heavenly  ex- 
pression speaking  the  tender  gladness  of  her  grateful  soul 
that  God  at  length  should  grant  our  re-union.  From  our 
earliest  moments,  my  Fredy,  when  no  misfortune  hap- 
pened to  our  dear  family,  we  vmnted  nothing  hut  each  other. 
Joyfully  as  others  were  received  by  us  —  loved  by  us  —  all 
that  was  necessary  to  our  happiness  was  fulfilled  by  our 
simple  junction.  Tliis  I  remember  with  my  first  remem- 
brance ;  nor  do  I  recollect  a  single  instance  of  being  af- 
fected beyond  a  minute  by  any  outward  disappointment, 
if  its  result  was  leaving  us  together. 

She  was  the  soul  of  my  soul !  —  and  't  is  wonderful  to 
me,  my  dearest  Fredy,  that  the  first  shock  did  not  join 
them  immediately  by  the  flight  of  mine  —  but  that  over  — 


1800.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY,  409 

that  dreadful,  harrowing,  never-to-be-forgotten  moment  of 
horror  that  made  me  wish  to  be  mad  —  the  ties  that  after 
that  first  endeai'ing  period  have  shared  with  her  my  heart, 
come  to  my  aid.  Yet  I  was  long  incredulous ;  and  still 
sometimes  I  think  it  is  not  —  and  that  she  will  come  — 
and  I  paint  her  by  my  side — -  by  my  father's  —  in  every 
room  of  these  apartments,  destined  to  have  checkered  the 
woes  of  her  life  with  rays  of  comfort,  joy,  and  affection. 

0,  my  Fredy !  not  selfish  is  the  affliction  that  repines  ; 
her  earthly  course  of  sorrow  was  allowed  no  shade  !  —  that 
at  the  instant  soft  peace  and  consolation  awaited  her  she 
should  breathe  her  last !  You  would  understand  all  the 
hardship  of  resignation  for  me  were  you  to  read  the  joyful 
opening  of  her  letter,  on  her  landing,  to  my  poor  father, 
and  her  prayer  at  the  end  to  be  restored  to  him. 

0,  my  Fredy !  could  you  indeed  think  of  me  —  be 
alarmed  for  me  on  that  dreadful  day  !  — I  can  hardly  make 
that  enter  my  comprehension ;  but  I  thank  you  from  my 
soul ;  for  that  is  beyond  any  love  I  had  thought  possil^le, 
even  from  your  tender  heart. 

Tell  me  you  all  keep  well,  and  forgive  me  my  distraction. 
I  write  so  fast  I  fear  you  can  hardly  read ;  but  you  will 
see  I  am  conversing  with  you,  and  that  wQl  show  you  how 
I  turn  to  you  for  the  comfort  of  your  tenderness.  Yes, 
you  have  all  a  loss,  indeed  !  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Greenwich,  Fiiday,  February  — ,  1800. 
Here  we  are,  my  beloved  friend.     We  came  yesterday. 
All  places  to  me  are  now  less  awful  than  my  own  so  dear 
habitation. 

My  royal  interview  took  place  on  Wednesday.     T  was 


410  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1800. 

five  hours  with  the  Eoyal  family,  three  of  them  alone  with 
the  Queen,  whose  graciousness  and  kind  goodness  I  cannot 
express.  And  each  of  the  Princesses  saw  me  with  a  sort 
of  concern  and  interest  I  can  never  forget.  I  did  tolerably 
well,  though  not  quite  as  steadily  as  I  expected  ;  but  with 
my  own  Princess  Augusta  I  lost  all  command  of  myself. 
She  is  still  wrapt  up,  and  just  recovering  from  a  fever  her- 
self ;  and  she  spoke  to  me  in  a  tone  —  a  voice  so  commis- 
erating —  I  could  not  stand  it  —  I  was  forced  to  stop  short 
in  my  approach,  and  hide  my  face  with  my  muff.  She 
came  up  to  me  immediately,  put  her  arm  upon  my  shoulder, 
and  kissed  me.  —  I  shall  never  forget  it.  —  How  much 
more  than  thousands  of  words  did  a  condescension  so  ten- 
der tell  me  her  kind  feelings !  —  She  is  one  of  the  few 
beings  in  this  world  that  can  be,  in  the  words  of  M.  de 
Narbonne,  "  all  that  is  douce  and  all  that  is  spirituelle,"  — 
his  words  upon  my  lost  darling  ! 

It  is  impossible  more  of  comfort  or  gratification  could  be 
given,  than  I  received  from  them  all.  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d' Arblay  to  Dr.  Burney. 

"West  Hamble,  March  22,  1800. 

Day  after  day  I  have  meant  to  write  to  my  dearest 
father ;  but  I  have  been  unwell  ever  since  our  return,  and 
that  has  not  added  to  my  being  sprightly.  I  have  not 
once  crossed  the  threshold  since  I  re-entered  the  house  till 
to-day,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke  almost  insisted  upon 
t9,king  me  an  airing.  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  it  has  done  me 
good,  and  broken  a  kii^(J  of  spell  that  made  me  unwilling 
to  stir. 

M.  d' Arblay  has  worked  most  laboriously  in  his  garden  ; 
but  his   rnisfortunes  there,    during    our   absence,    might 


1800.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  411 

melt  a  heart  of  stone.  The  horses  of  our  next  neighboring 
farmer  broke  through  our  hedges,  and  have  made  a  kind  of 
bog  of  our  meadow,  by  scampering  in  it  during  the  wet ;  the 
sheep  followed,  who  have  eaten  up  all  our  green.?,  every 
sprout  and  cabbage  and  lettuce  destined  for  the  winter; 
while  the  horses  dug  up  our  turnips  and  carrots ;  and  the 
swine,  pursuing  such  examples,  have  trod  down  all  the 
young  plants,  besides  devouring  whatever  the  others  left  of 
vegetables.  Our  potatoes,  left,  from  our  abrupt  departure, 
in  the  ground,  are  all  rotten  or  frost-bitten,  and  utterly 
spoilt ;  and  not  a  single  thing  has  our  whole  ground  pro- 
duced us  since  we  came  home.  A  few  dried  carrots,  which 
remain  from  the  indoors  collection,  are  all  we  have  to 
temper  our  viands. 

What  think  you  of  this  for  people  who  make  it  a  rule 
to  owe  a  third  of  their  sustenance  to  the  garden  ?  Poor  M. 
d'A.'s  renewal  of  toil,  to  supply  future  times,  is  exemplary 
to  behold,  after  such  discouragement.  But  he  works  as  if 
nothing  had  failed  ;  such  is  his  patience  as  well  as  industry. 

My  Alex.,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  kindly  glad  to  hear,  is 
entirely  well ;  and  looks  so  blooming  —  no  rose  can  be 
fresher.  I  am  encouraging  back  his  spouting  propensity, 
to  fit  him  for  his  royal  interview  with  the  sweet  and  gay 
young  Princess  who  has  demanded  him,  who  will,  I  know, 
be  diverted  with  his  speeches  and  gestures.  We  must 
present  ourselves  before  Easter,  as  the  Court  then  adjourns 
to  Windsor  for  ten  days.  My  gardener  will  not  again 
leave  his  grounds  to  the  four-footed  marauders ;  and  our 
stay,  therefore,,  will  be  the  very  shortest  we  can  possibly 
make  it ;  for  though  we  love  retirement,  we  do  not  like 
solitude. 

I  long  for  some  further  account  of  you,  dearest  Sir,  and 
how  you  bear  the  mixture  of  business  and  company,  of 
fag  and  frolic,  as  Charlotte  used  to  phrase  it.       F.  d'A. 


412  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1800. 

Madame  d^Arhlay  to  Dr.  Burney. 

West  Hamble,  November  7,  1800. 

I  think  it  very  long  not  to  hear  at  least  of  you,  my 
dearest  padre.  My  tranquil  and  happy  .security,  alas  !  has 
been  broken  in  upon  by  severe  conflicts  since  I  wrote  to 
my  dearest  father  last,  which  I  would  not  communicate 
while  yet  pending,  but  must  now  briefly  narrate. 

My  partner,  the  truest  of  partners,  has  been  erased  from 
the  list  of  emigrants  nearly  a  year ;  and  in  that  period  has 
been  much  pressed  and  much  blamed  by  his  remaining 
friends  in  France,  by  every  opportunity  through  which  they 
could  send  to  him,  for  not  immediately  returning,  and  see- 
ing if  anything  could  be  yet  saved  from  the  wreck  of  his 
own  and  family's  fortune  ;  but  he  held  steady  to  his  origi- 
nal purpose  never  to  revisit  his  own  country  till  it  was  at 
peace  with  this ;  till  a  letter  came  from  his  beloved  uncle 
himself,  conveyed  to  him  through  Hambro',  which  shook 
all  the  firmness  of  his  resolution,  and  has  kept  him,  since 
its  receipt,  in  a  state  of  fermentation,  from  doubts  and 
difficulties,  and  crossing  wishes  and  interests,  that  has 
much  affected  his  health  as  well  as  tranquillity. 

All,  however,  now,  is  at  least  decided ;  for  a  few  days 
since  he  received  a  letter  from  M.  Lajard,  who  is  returned 
to  Paris,  with  information  from  his  uncle's  eldest  son,  that 
some  of  his  small  property  is  yet  unsold,  to  about  the 
amount  of  £1,000,  and  can  still  be  saved  from  sequestration 
if  he  will  immediately  go  and  claim  it :  or,  if  that  is  im- 
possible, if  he  will  send  his  procuration  to  his  uncle,  from 
some  country  not  at  ivar  with  France. 

This  ended  all  his  internal  contest ;  and  he  is  gone  this 
very  morning  to  town  to  procure  a  passport  and  a  passage 
in  some  vessel  bound  to  Holland. 

So  unused  are  we  to  part,  never  yet  for  a  week  having 


1800.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  413 

been  separated  during  the  eight  years  of  our  union,  that 
our  first  idea  was  going  together,  and  taking  our  Alex. ; 
and  certain  I  am  nothing  would  do  me  such  material  and 
mental  good  as  so  complete  a  change  of  scene ;  but  the 
great  expense  of  the  voyage  and  journey,  and  the  inclement 
season  for  our  little  boy,  at  length  finally  settled  us  to  pray 
only  for  a  speedy  meeting.  But  I  did  not  give  it  up  till 
late  last  night,  and  am  far  from  quite  reconciled  to  relin- 
quishing it  even  now. 

He  has  no  intention  to  go  to  France,  or  he  would  make 
an  ■  effort  to  pass  by  Calais,  which  woidd  delightfully 
shorten  the  passage ;  but  he  merely  means  to  remain  at 
the  Hague,  while  he  sends  over  his  procuration,  and  learns 
how  soon  he  may  hope  to  reap  its  fruits. 

I  can  write  upon  nothing  else  just  now,  my  dearest 
father ;  the  misfortune  of  this  call  at  such  a  boisterous, 
dangerous  season,  will  oppress  and  alarm  me,  in  defiance  of 
all  I  can  oppose  of  hope ;  yet  the  measure  is  so  reasonable, 
so  natural,  I  could  no  longer  try  to  combat  it.  Adieu, 
dearest  Sir.  If  any  news  of  him  reaches  me  before  his 
return,  I  will  not  enjoy  it  five  minutes  previous  to  commu- 
nicating it  to  my  dear  father.  He  hopes  at  all  events  to 
be  able  to  embrace  you,  and  beg  your  benediction  before 
he  departs,  which  nothing  but  the  very  unlikely  chance  of 
meeting  a  vessel  just  sailing  for  Holland  immediately  can 
prevent.     He  is  well  —  and  oh,  what  a  support  to  me  ! 

F.  D'A. 


Madame  d^ Arhlaij  to  Br.  Burney. 

West  Hamble,  16th  December,  1800. 
He  is  returned,  my  dearest  father,  already  !    My  joy  and 
surprise  are  so  great  I  seem  in  a  dream.     I  have  just  this 
moment  a  letter  from  him,  written  at  Gravesend. 


414  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1800. 

What  he  has  been  able  to  arrange  as  to  his  affairs,  I 
know  not ;  and  just  now  cannot  care,  so  great  is  my  thank- 
fuhiess  for  his  safety  and  return.  He  waits  in  the  river 
for  his  passport,  and  will,  when  he  obtains  it,  hasten,  I 
need  not  say,  to  West  Hainble. 

This  blessed  news  my  dearest  father  will,  I  am  sure,  be 
glad  to  receive;  I  am  sure,  too,  of  the  joy  of  my  dear, 
affectionate  Fanny.  He  will  be  here,  I  hope,  to  keep  his 
son's  sixth  birthday,  on  Thursday.  He  is  well,  he  says,  but 
horribly  fatigued.  Heaven  bless  and  preserve  you,  dearest 
sir,  your  ever  dutiful  and  affectionate,  F.  d'A. 


1802.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  415 


CHAPTEE    VIIL 

.1802  —  1813. 

[In  October,  1801,  M.  d'Arblay  received  from  the  French 
government  the  appointment  of  commercial  consul  at  Lon- 
don, and  went  to  Paris  to  receive  orders.  The  appoint- 
ment was  annulled  in  consequence  of  his  stipulation  that 
at  no  time  should  he  be  called  on  to  bear  arms  against  the 
British  government.  Having  been  required  by  the  Alien 
Office,  on  leaving  England,  to  engage  that  he  would  not 
return  for  the  space  of  one  year,  Madame  d'Arblay  and 
her  son  joined  him  at  Paris  in  April,  1802,  where  circum- 
stances detained  her  for  ten  years.] 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Miss  Planta. 

Paris,  April  27,  1802. 

A  week  have  I  been  here,  my  dear  Miss  Planta,  so  aston- 
ishingly engaged,  so  indispensably  occupied,  or  so  suffering 
from  fatigue,  that  I  have  not  been  able  till  now  to  take  up 
my  pen,  except  to  satisfy  my  dear  father  of  our  safe  arrival. 
To  give  you  some  idea  of  these  engagements,  occupations, 
j3iud  fatigues,  I  must  begin  with  the  last. 

We  were  a  whole  long,  languid  day,  a  whole  restless, 
painful  night,  upon  the  sea ;  my  little  Alex,  sick  as  death, 
suffering,  if  possible,  j^et  more  than  myself,  though  I  had 
not  a  moment  of  ease  and  comfort.  My  little  Adrienne  de 
Chavagnac  was  perfectly  well  all  the  time,  singing  and 


416  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

skipping  about  the  cabin,  and  amusing  every  one  by  her 
innocent  enjoyment  of  the  novelty  of  the  scene. 

At  Calais  we  spent  a  day,  and  half  a  night  to  refit ;  and 
pray  try  to  imagine  my  pleased  emotion  and  surprise, 
when,  as  soon  as  we  were  seated  to  dinner  at  the  hotel, 
a  band  of  musicians  came  to  the  window,  with  French 
horns  and  other  instruments,  and  struck  up  "  God  save  the 
King."  So  unexpected  a  sound  in  a  foreign  country,  and 
a  country  so  lately  hostile,  affected  me  with  uncommon 
pleasure. 

As  to  mj  occupations  ;  —  my  little  apartment  to  arrange, 
my  trunks  and  baggage  to  unpack  and  place,  my  poor 
Adrienne  to  consign  to  her  friends,  my  Alex,  to  nurse  from 
a  threatening  malady ;  letters  to  deliver,  necessaries  to 
buy  ;  a  femme  de  chambre  to  engage ;  and,  most  important 
of  all !  my  own  Sumptuous  wardrobe  to  refit,  and  my  own 
poor  exterior  to  reorganize  !  I  see  you  smile,  methinks,  at 
this  hint ;  but  what  smiles  would  brighten  the  countenance 
of  a  certain  young  lady  called  Miss  Rose,  who  amused  her- 
self by  anticipation,  when  I  had  last  the  honor  of  seeing 
her,  with  the  changes  I  might  have  to  undergo,  could  she 
have  heard  the  exclamations  which  followed  the  examina- 
tion of  my  attire  !  "  This  won't  do  !  That  you  can  never 
wear  !  This  you  can  never  be  seen  in  !  That  would  make 
you  stared  at  as  a  curiosity  !  —  77i7^ee  petticoats  !  no  one 
wears  more  than  one  !  —  Stays  ?  everybody  has  left  off 
even  corsets  !  —  Shift-sleeves  ?  not  a  soul  now  wears  even 
a  chemise !"  &c.  &c.  In  short,  I  found  all  that  I  possessed 
seemed  so  hideously  old-fashioned,  or  so  comically  rustic, 
that  as  soon  as  it  was  decreed  I  must  make  my  appearance 
in  the  grand  monde,  hop'eless  of  success  in  exhibiting  my- 
self in  the  costume  Frangais,  I  gave  over  the  attempt,  and 
ventured  to  come  forth  as  a  Gothic  Anglaise,  who  had 


1802.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  417 

never   heard   of,   or    never    heeded,   the   reigning    meta- 
morphoses. 

As  to  my  engagements  ;  —  when  should  I  finish,  should 
I  tell  of  all  that  had  been  made  or  proposed,  even  in  the 
short  space  of  a  single  week  ?  The  civilities  I  have  met 
with,  contrary  to  all  my  expectations,  have  not  more 
amazed  me  for  myself,  than  gratified  me  for  M.  d'Arblay, 
who  is  keenly  alive  to  the  kind,  I  might  say  distinguished, 
reception  I  have  been  favored  with  by  those  to  whom  my 
arrival  is  known. 

Your  favorite  hero  is  excessively  popular  at  this  moment 
from  three  successive  grand  events,  all  occurring  within  the 
short  time  of  my  arrival,  —  the  Eatification  of  the  Treaty 
of  Peace  —  the  Eestoration  of  Sunday,  and  Catholic  Wor- 
ship —  and  the  amnesty  of  the  Emigrants.  At  the  Opera 
Buffa,  the  logc  in  which  I  sat  was  exactly  opposite  to  that 
of  the  First  Consul ;  but  he  and  his  family  are  all  at 
Malmaison.  Adieu,  my  dear  Miss  P.,  and  believe  me  ever, 
your  affectionate  friend  and  servant,  F.  dArblay. 

Nothing  since  my  arrival  has  so  sensibly  gratified  me,  as 
a  visit  from  Madame  Lafayette. 

Madame  Lafayette  is  the  daughter  of  the  ci-devant  Due 
dAyen,  and  consequently  niece  of  Madame  de  Tesse,  the 
Due's  sister.  She  was  married  to  M.  de  Lafayette  when 
she  was  only  seventeen  years  of  age.  By  some  cold,  or 
mismanagement,  and  total  want  of  exercise  in  the  prison 
of  Olmutz,  some  humor  has  fallen  into  one  of  her  ankles, 
that,  though  it  does  not  make  her  absolutely  lame,  causes 
walking  to  be  so  painful  and  difficult  to  her  that  she  moves 
as  little  as  possible,  and  is  always  obliged  to  have  a  stool 
for  her  foot.  She  now  resides  with  M.  Lafayette  and  their 
three  children  entirely  in  the  country,  at  a  chateau  which 
VOL.  II.  27 


418  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

has  descended  to  her  since  the  revolutionary  horrors,  and 
therefore  has  not  been  confiscated,  called  La  Grange. 
They  never  come  to  Paris  but  upon  business  of  positive 
necessity.  She  had  arrived  only  this  morning  on  a  visit  to 
her  aunt,  Madame  de  Tesse,  to  make  some  preparations  for 
the  approaching  marriage  of  her  only  son. 

Her  youngest  daughter.  Mademoiselle  de  Lafayette,  ac- 
companied her.  She  is  a  blooming  young  creature  of 
English  fairness  —  as  we  English  choose  to  say  —  with  a 
bright  native  color,  and  beautiful  light  hair ;  otherwise 
with  but  indifferent  features,  and  not  handsome ;  yet  her 
air,  though  modest  even  to  the  extreme  that  borders  upon 
bashfulness,  is  distinguished,  and  speaks  her  to  be  both 
sensible  and  well  brought  up. 

Madame  de  Lafayette,  also,  is  by  no  means  handsome ; 
but  has  eyes  so  expressive,  so  large,  and  so  speaking,  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  criticise  her  other  features,  for  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  look  at  them.  Her  manner  is  calm  and  mild, 
yet  noble.  She  is  respected  even  by  surrounding  infidels 
for  her  genuine  piety,  which,  in  the  true  character  of  true 
religion,  is  severe  only  for  herself,  lenient  and  cheerful  for 
all  others.  I  do  not  say  this  from  what  I  could  see  in  the 
hour  she  was  so  good  as  to  pass  with  me,  but  from  all  I 
have  heard. 

She  warmly  invited  me  to  La  Grange,  and  requested  me 
to  name  an  early  day  for  passing  some  time  there.  I  pro- 
posed that  it  might  be  after  the  marriage  had  taken  place, 
as  till  then  all  foreign  people  or  subjects  might  be  obtrusive. 
She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Apres  ?  —  c'est  vrai ! 
—  we  could  then  more  completely  enjoy  Madame  d'Ar- 
blay's  society ;  for  we  must  now  have  continual  interruptions, 
surrounded  as  we  are  by  workmen,  goods,  chattels,  and 
preparations ;  so  that  there  would  be  a  nail  to  hammer 
between  almost  every  word ;  and  yet,  as  we  are  going  to 


1802.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  419 

Auvergne  after  the  ceremony,  it  will  be  so  long  before  a 
meeting  may  be  arranged,  that  I  believe  the  less  time  lost 
the  better." 

I  knew  M.  d'Arblay  desired  this  acquaintance  for  me 
too  earnestly  to  offer  any  opposition  ;  and  I  was  too  much 
charmed  with  its  opening  to  make  any  myself:  it  was 
therefore  determined  we  should  go  the  following  week  to 
La  Grange. 

[May  5-.)  Again  a  full  day.  M.  d'Arblay  had  procured 
us  three  tickets  for  entering  the  apartments  at  the  Tuileries, 
to  see  the  parade  of  General  Hulin,  now  high  in  actual 
rank  and  service,  but  who  had  been  a  sous-ojflcier  under  M. 
dArblay's  command ;  our  third  ticket  was  for  Madame 
d'Henin,  who  had  never  been  to  this  sight — nor,  indeed, 
more  than  tAvice  to  any  spectacle  since  her  return  to  France 
—  till  my  arrival ;  but  she  is  so  obliging  and  good  as  to 
accept,  nay,  to  seek,  everything  that  can  amuse,  of  which 
I  can  profit.  We  breakfasted  with  her  early,  and  were 
appointed  to  join  the  party  of  M.  le  Prince  de  Beauveau, 
who  had  a  General  in  his  carriage,  through  whose  aid  and 
instructions  we  hoped  to  escape  all  difficulties. 

The  crowd  was  great,  but  civil  and  well  dressed ;  and  we 
met  with  no  impediment  till  we  came  to  the  great  entrance. 
Alas,  I  had  sad  recollections  of  sad  readiuQS  in  mounting*, 
the  steps  !  We  had  great  difficulty,  notwithstanding  our 
tickets,  in  making  our  way  —  I  mean  Madame  d'Henin 
and  ourselves,  for  Madame  de  Beauveau  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Mortemar  having  an  officer  in  the  existing  military  to 
aid  them,  were  admitted  and  helped  by  all  the  attendants  ; 
and  so  forwarded  that  we  wholly  lost  sight  of  them,  till  we 
arrived,  long  after,  in  the  apartment  destined  for  the  exhi- 
bition. This,  however,  was  so  crowded  that  every  place  at 
the  windows  for  seeing  the  parade  was  taken,  and  the  row 
formed  opposite  to  see  the  First  Consul  as  he  passed  through 


420  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

the  room  to  take  horse,  M^as  so  thick  and  threefold  filled,  that 
not  a  possibility  existed  of  even  a  passing  peep.  Madame 
d'Henin  would  have  retired,  but  as  the  whole  scene  was 
new  and  curious  to  me,  I  prevailed  with  her  to  stay,  that 
I  might  view  a  little  of  the  costume  of  the  company  ;  though 
I  was  sorry  I  detained  her,  when  I  saw  her  perturbed 
spirits  from  the  recollections  which,  I  am  sure,  pressed 
upon  her  on  re-entering  this  palace :  and  that  her  sorrows 
were  only  subdued  by  her  personal  indignation,  which  was 
iinconscious,  but  yet  very  prominent,  to  find  herself  included 
in  the  mass  of  the  crowd  in  being  refused  all  place  and 
distinction,  where,  heretofore,  she  was  amongst  the  first  for 
every  sort  of  courtesy.  Nothing  of  this,  however,  was  said  ; 
and  you  may  believe  my  pity  for  her  was  equally  unuttered. 

We  seated  ourselves  now,  hopeless  of  any  other  amuse- 
ment than  seeing  the  uniforms  of  the  passing  officers,  and 
the  light  drapery  of  the  stationary  ladies,  which,  by  the 
way,  is  not  by  any  means  so  notorious  nor  so  common  as 
has  been  represented ;  on  the  contrary,  there  are  far  more 
who  are  decent  enough  to  attract  no  attention,  than  who 
are  fashionable  enough  to  call  for  it. 

During  this  interval  M.  d'Arblay  found  means,  by  a 
ticket  lent  him  by  M.  de  Narbonne,  to  enter  the  next  apart- 
ment, and  there  to  state  our  distress,  not  in  vain,  to  General 
Hulin ;  and  presently  he  returned,  accompanied  by  this 
officer,  who  is,  I' fancy,  at  least  seven  feet  high,  and  was 
dressed  in  one  of  the  most  showy  uniforms  I  ever  saw. 
M.  d'Arblay  introduced  me  to  him.  He  expressed  his 
pleasure  in  seeing  the  wife  of  his  old  comrade,  and  taking 
my  hand,  caused  all  the  crowd  to  make  way,  and  conducted 
me  into  the  apartment  adjoining  to  that  where  the  First 
Consul  receives  the  ambassadors,  with  a  flourish  of  man- 
ners so  fully  displaying  power  as  well  as  courtesy,  that  I 
felt  as  if  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  seven  champions  who 


1802.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  421 

meant  to  mow  down  all  before  him,  should  any  impious 
elf  dare  'dispute  his  right  to  give  me  liberty,  or  to  sliow 
me  honor. 

He  put  me  into  the  first  place  in  the  apartment  which 
was  sacred  to  general  officers,  and  as  many  ladies  as  could 
be  accommodated  in  two  rows  only  at  the  windows.  M. 
d'Arblay,  under  the  sanction  of  his  big  friend,  followed 
with  Madame  d'Henin;  and  we  had  the  pleasure  of  re- 
joining Madame  de  Beauveau  and  Mademoiselle  de  Morte- 
mar,  who  were  at  the  same  windows,  through  the  exertions 
of  General  Songis. 

The  scene  now,  with  regard  to  all  that  was  present,  was 
splendidly  gay  and  highly  animating.  The  room  was  full, 
but  not  crowded,  with  officers  of  rank  in  sumptuous  rather 
than  rich  uniforms,  and  exhibiting  a  martial  air  that  be- 
came their  attire,  which,  however,  generally  speaking,  was 
too  cjorsfeous  to  be  noble. 

Our  window  was  that  next  to  the  consular  apartment, 
in  which  Bonaparte  was  holding  a  levee,  and  it  was  close 
to  the  steps  ascending  to  it ;  by  which  means  we  saw  all 
the  forms  of  the  various  exits  and  entrances,  and  had  op- 
portunity to  examine  every  dress  and  every  countenance 
that  passed  and  repassed.  This  was  highly  amusing,  I 
might  say  historic,  where  the  past  history  and  the  present 
office  were  known. 

Sundry  footmen  of  the  First  Consul,  in  very  fine  liveries, 
'  were  attending  to  bring  or  arrange  chairs  for  whoever  re- 
quired them ;  various  peace-officers,  superbly  begilt,  pa- 
raded occasionally  up  and  down  the  chamber,  to  keep  the 
ladies  to  their  windows  and  the  gentlemen  to  their  ranks, 
so  as  to  preserve  the  passage  or  lane  through  whicli  the 
First  Consul  was  to  walk  upon  his  entrance  clear  and 
open;  and  several  gentlemanlike-looking  persons,  whom 
in  former  times  I  should  have  supposed  pages  of  the  back 


422  DLVEY   AND   LETTEES  [1802. 

stairs,  dressed  in  black,  with  gold  chains  hanging  round 
their  necks,  and  medallions  pending  from  them,  seemed  to 
have  the  charge  of  the  door  itself,  leading  immediately  to 
the  audience  chamber  of  the  First  Consul. 

But  what  was  most  prominent  in  commanding  notice, 
was  the  array  of  the  aides-de-camp  of  Bonaparte,  which 
was  so  almost  furiously  striking,  that  all  other  vestments, 
even  the  most  gaudy,  appeared  suddenly  under  a  gloomy 
cloud  when  contrasted  with  its  brightness.  We  were  long 
viewing  them  before  we  could  discover  what  they  were  to 
represent,  my  three  lady  companions  being  as  new  to  this 
scene  as  myself;  but  afterwards  M.  d'Arblay  starting  for- 
ward to  speak  to  one  of  them,  brought  him  across  the  lane 
to  me,  and  said,  "  General  Lauriston." 

His  kind  and  faithful  friendship  to  M.  d'Arblay,  so 
amiably  manifested  upon  his  late  splendid  embassy  to 
England,  made  me  see  him  with  great  pleasure.  It  was 
of  course  but  for  a  moment,  as  he  was  amongst  those  who 
had  most  business  upon  their  hands.  General  d'Hennezel 
also  came  to  me  for  a  few  minutes,  and  three  or  four  others 
whom  M.  d'Arblay  named,  but  whom  I  have  forgotten. 
Indeed  I  was  amazed  at  the  number  of  old  friends  by 
whom  he  was  recognized,  and  touched  far  more  than  I  can 
express,  to  see  him  in  his  old  coat  and  complete  undress, 
accosted  by  his  fine  (former)  brethren,  in  all  their  new  and 
beautiful  costume,  with  an  eagerness  of  regard  that,  result- 
ing from  first  impulse,  proved  their  judgment,  or  rather 
knowledge  of  his  merits,  more  forcibly  than  any  profes- 
sions, however  warm,  could  have  done.  He  was  indeed, 
after  the  aides-de-camp,  the  most  striking  figure  in  the 
apartment,  from  contrasting  as  much  with  the  general  herd 
by  being  .the  plainest  and  worst  dressed,  as  they  did  by 
being  the  gayest  and  most  showy. 

General  Lauriston  is  a  very  handsome  man,  and  of  a 


1802.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  423 

very  pleasing  and  amiable  countenance ;  and  his  manly 
air  carried  off  the  frippery  of  his  trappings,  so  as  to  make 
them  appear  almost  to  advantage. 

In  the  first  row  of  females  at  the  window  where  we 
stood,  were  three  ladies  who,  by  my  speaking  English  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Mortemar  and  Madame  de  Beauveau,  dis- 
covered my  country,  and,  as  I  have  since  heard,  gathered 
my  name ;  and  here  I  blush  to  own  liow  unlike  was  the 
result  to  what  one  of  this  nation  might  have  experienced 
from  a  similar  discovery  in  England ;  for  the  moment  it 
was  buzzed  "  cest  une  etrangere,  dest  une  Anglaise,"  every 
one  tried  to  place,  to  oblige,  and  to  assist  me,  and  yet  no 
one  looked  curious,  or  stared  at  me.  Ah,  my  dear  Padre, 
do  you  not  a  little  fear,  in  a  contrasted  situation,  no  one 
would  have  tried  to  place,  oblige,  or  assist,  yet  every  one 
would  have  looked  curious  and  stared  ?  Well,  there  are 
virtues  aS  well  as  defects  of  all  classes ;.  and  John  Bull 
can  fight  so  good  a  battle  for  his  share  of  the  former,  that 
he  need  not  be  utterly  cast  down  in  acknowledging  now 
and  then  a  few  of  the  latter. 

The  best  view  from  the  window  to  see  the  marching 
forwards  of  the  troops  was  now  bestowed  upon  me,  and  I 
vainly  offered  it  to  the  ladies  of  my  own  party,  to  whom 
the  whole  of  the  sight  was  as  new  as  to  myself  The  three 
unknown  ladies  began  conversing  with  me,  and,  after  a 
little  general  talk,  one  of  them  with  sudden  importance  of 
manner,  in  a  tone  slow  but  energetic,  said,  "  Avez-vous  vu, 
Madame,  le  Premier  Consul  ?  " 

"  Pas  encore,  Madame." 

"  Cest  sans  doute  ce  que  vous  souhaitez  le  plus, Madame?" 

"  Oui,  Madame." 

"  Voulez-vous  le  voir  parfaitement  bien,  et  tout  a  fait  a 
votre  aise  ? " 

"  Je  le  desire  beaucoup,  Madame."     She  then  told  me  to 


424  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

keep  my  eyes  constantly  upon  her,  and  not  an  instant  lose 
sight  of  her  movements ;  and  to  suffer  no  head,  in  the 
press  that  would  ensue  when  the  First  Consul  appeared,  to 
intervene  between  us.  "  Faites  comme  cela,  Madame," 
continued  she ;  "  et  vous  le  verrez  bien,  bien ;  car,"  added 
she,  solemnly,  and  putting  her  hand  on  her  breast,  —  "  moi 
—  je  vais  lui  parler  !"  I  was  very  much  surprised,  indeed, 
and  could  only  conclude  I  was  speaking  to  a  wife,  sister, 
or  cousin  at  least,  of  one  of  the  other  consuls,  or  of  some 
favorite  minister.  "  Et  lui,  Madame,  il  me  repondra  ;  vous 
I'entendrez  parler,  Madame,  oui,  vous  I'entendrez !  car  il 
est  bon,  bon  !  —  bon  homme  tout  h.  fait  et  affable  —  0  affa- 
ble !  —  oui,  vous  I'entendrez  parler." 

I  thanked  her  very  much,  but  it  was  difficult  to  express 
as  much  satisfaction  as  slie  displayed  herself.  You  may 
suppose,  however,  how  curious  I  felt  for  such  a  conversation, 
and  how  scrupulously  I  followed  her  injunctions  of  watch- 
ing her  motions.  A  little  squat  good-humored  lady,  with 
yellow  flowers  over  a  mob  cap  upon  her  hair;  who  had 
little  sunken  eyes,  concise  nose,  and  a  mouth  so  extended 
by  perpetual  smiling,  that,  hardly  leaving  an  inch  for  the 
cheek,  it  ran  nearly  into  the  ear,  on  my  other  side  now  de- 
manded my  attention  also,  and  told  me  she  came  regularly 
every  month  to  the  great  review,  that  she  might  always 
bring  some  friend  who  wanted  to  see  it.  I  found  by  this 
she  was  a  person  of  some  power,  some  influence,  at  least, 
and  not  entirely  averse  to  having  it  known.  She  was  ex- 
tremely civil  to  me  ;  but  as  my  other  friend  had  promised 
me  so  singular  a  regale,  I  had  not  much  voluntary  time  to 
spare  for  her ;  this,  however,  appeared  to  be  no  impedi- 
ment to  that  she  was  so  obliging  as  to  determine  to  bestow 
upon  me,  and  she  talked  on,  satisfied  with  my  acquiescence 
to  her  civility,  till  a  sort  of  bustle  just  before  us  making  me 
look  a  little  sharp,  she  cried — "  Vous  le  voyez,  Madame  ? " 


1802.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  425 

"  Qui  ? "  exclaimed  I,  "  Le  Premier  Consul  ?  " 

"  Mais  non  !  —  pas  encore ;  —  mais  —  ce  —  ce  monsieur 
la !  "  I  looked  at  her  to  see  whom  I  was  to  remark,  and 
her  eyes  led  me  to  a  tall,  large  figure,  with  a  broad 
gold-laced  hat,  who  was  clearing  the  lane,  which  some  of 
the  company  had  infringed,  with  a  stentorian  voice,  and  an 
air  and  manner  of  such  authority  as  a  chief  constable 
might  exert  in  an  Englisli  riot. 

"  Oui,  Madame,"  I  answered,  not  conceiving  why  I  was  to 
look  at  him;  "je  le  vois  ce  Monsieur;  il  est  bien  grand !" 

"  Oui,  Madame,"  replied  she,  with  a  yet  widened  smile, 
and  a  look  of  lively  satisfaction ;  "  il  est  bien  grand  !  Vous 
le  voyez  bien?" 

"  Mais  oui :  et  il  est  tres  bien  mis  ! " 

"  Oui  surement !  vous  etes  sure  que  vous  le  voyez  ?  " 

"  Bien  sure,  Madame,  —  mais,  il  a  un  air  d'autorite,  il 
me  semble." 

"  Oui,  Madame ;  et  bientSt,  il  ira  dans  I'autre  apparte- 
ment !  il  verra  le  Premier  Consul ! " 

"  0,  fort  bien  ! "  cried  I,  quite  at  a  loss  what  she  meant 
me  to  understand,  till  at  last,  fixing  first  him,  and  then 
me,  she  expressively  said  —  "  Madame,  c'est  mon  mari ! " 
The  grin  now  was  distended  to  the  very  utmost  limits  of 
the  stretched  lips,  and  the  complacency  of  her  countenance 
forcibly  said,  "  What  do  you  think  of  me  now  ? "  My 
countenance,  however,  was  far  more  clever  than  my  head, 
if  it  made  her  any  answer.  But,  in  the  plenitude  of  her 
own  admiration  of  a  gentleman  who  seemed  privileged  to 
speak  roughly,  and  push  violently  whoever,  by  a  single 
inch,  passed  a  given  barrier,  she  imagined,  I  believe,  that 
to  belong  to  him  entitled  her  to  be  considered  as  sharing 
his  prowess  ;  she  seemed  even  to  be  participating  in  the 
merits  of  his  height  and  breadth,  though  he  could  easily 
have  put  her  into  his  pocket. 


426  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

Not  perceiving,  as  I  imagine,  all  the  delight  of  felicita- 
tion in  my  countenance  that  she  had  expected,  her  own 
fell,  in  a  disappointed  pause,  into  as  much  of  length  as  its 
circular  form  would  admit  of ;  it  recovered,  however,  in 
another  minute,  its  full  merry  rotundity,  by  conjecturing, 
as  I  have  reason  to  think,  that  the  niggardliness  of  my  ad- 
miration was  occasioned  by  my  doubt  of  her  assertions  ;  for, 
looking  at  me  with  an  expression  that  demanded  my  at- 
tention, she  poked  her  head  under  the  arm  of  a  tall  grena- 
dier, stationed  to  guard  our  window,  and  trying  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  object  of  her  devotion,  called  out,  in  an 
accent  of  tenderness,  "  M'Ami !  M'Ami ! " 

The  surprise  she  required  was  now  gratified  in  full, 
though  what  she  concluded  to  be  excited  by  her  happiness, 
was  simply  the  effect  of  so  caressing  a  public  address  from 
so  diminutive  a  little  creature  to  so  gigantic  a  big  one. 
Three  or  four  times  the  soft  sound  was  repeated  ere  it 
reached  the  destined  ear,  through  the  hubbub  created  by 
his  own  loud  and  rough  manner  of  calling  to  order ;  but, 
when  at  last  he  caught  the  gentle  appellation,  and  looked 
down  upon  lier,  it  was  with  an  eyebrow  so  scowling,  a 
mouth  so  pouting,  and  an  air  that  so  rudely  said,  "  What 
the  D —  do  you  want  ? "  that  I  was  almost  afraid  he  would 
have  taken  her  between  his  thumb  and  finger  and  given 
her  a  shake.  However,  he  only  grumbled  out,  "  Qu'est-ce 
que  c'est  done  ?  "  A  little  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  she  gently 
stammered,  "M'Ami,  —  le — le  Premier  Consul,  ne  vient-il 
pas  ? "  "  Oui  !  oui !  "  was  blustered  in  reply,  with  a  look 
that  completed  the  phrase  by  "  i/oit  fool,  you  !  "  though  the 
voice  left  it  unfinished. 

Not  disconcerted  even  yet,  though  rather  abashed,  she 
turned  to  me  with  a  pleased  grin  that  showed  her  proud  of 
his  noble  ferociousness,  and  said,  "  C'est  mon  mari,  ]\Ia- 
dame ! "  as  if  still  fearful  I  was  not  fully  convinced  of  the 


1802.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  427 

grandeur  of  her  connection.  "  M'ami "  having  now  cleared 
the  passage  by  ranging  all  the  company  in  two  direct  lines, 
the  officers  of  highest  rank  were  assembled,  and  went  in  a 
sort  of  procession  into  the  inner  apartment  to  the  audience 
of  the  First  Consul.  During  the  time  this  lasted,  some  re- 
laxation of  discipline  ensued,  and  the  gentlemen  from  the 
opposite  row  ventured  to  approach  and  peep  at  the  win- 
dows with  the  ladies ;  but  as  soon  as  the  generals  de- 
scended from  the  steps  they  had  mounted,  their  short 
conference  being  over,  "  m'ami "  again  appeared,  to  the 
inexpressible  gratification  of  his  loving  little  mate,  again 
furiously  hustled  every  one  to  his  post ;  and  the  flags,  next, 
as  I  think,  were  carried  in  procession  to  the  inner  apart- 
ment, but  soon  after  brought  back. 

The  Prince  of  Orange  then  passed  us  to  enter  the  audi- 
ence chamber,  with  a  look  so  serious,  an  air  so  depressed, 
that  I  have  not  been  at  all  surprised  to  hear  he  was  that 
very  night  taken  very  ill. 

The  last  object  for  whom  the  way  was  cleared  was  the 
Second  Consul,  Cambaceres,  who  advanced  with  a  stately 
and  solemn  pace,  slow,  regular,  and  consequential ;  dressed 
richly  in  scarlet  and  gold,  and  never  looking  to  the  right 
or  left,  but  wearing  a  mien  of  fixed  gravity  and  impor- 
tance. He  had  several  persons  in  his  suite,  who,  I  think, 
but  am  not  sure,  were  ministers  of  state. 

At  length  the  two  human  hedges  were  finally  formed, 
the  door  of  the  audience  chamber  was  thrown  wide  open 
with  a  commanding  crash,  and  a  vivacious  officer  —  senti- 
nel —  or  I  know  not  what,  nimbly  descended  the  three 
steps  into  our  apartment,  and  placing  himself  at  the  side 
of  the  door,  with  one  hand  spread  as  liigh  as  possible  above 
his  head,  and  the  other  extended  horizontally,  called  out  in 
a  loud  and  authoritative  voice,  "  Le  Premier  Consul ! " 

You  will  easily  believe  nothing  more  was  necessary  to 


428  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

obtain  attention  ;  not  a  soul  either  spoke  or  stirred  as  he 
and  his  suite  passed  along,  which  was  so  quickly  that,  had 
I  not  been  placed  so  near  the  door,  and  had  not  all  about 
me  facilitated  my  standing  foremost,  and  being  least  crowd- 
obstructed,  I  could  hardly  have  seen  him.  As  it  w'as,  I 
had  a  view  so  near,  though  so  brief,  of  his  face,  as  to  be 
very  much  struck  by  it  It  is  of  a  deeply  impressive  cast, 
pale  even  to  sallowness,  while  not  only  in  the  eye  but  in 
every  feature  —  care,  thought,  melancholy,  and  meditation 
are  strongly  marked,  with  so  much  of  character,  nay,  ge- 
nius, and  so  penetrating  a  seriousness,  or  rather  sadness,  as 
powerfully  to  sink  into  an  observer's  mind. 

Yet,  though  the  busts  and  medallions  I  have  seen  are, 
in  general,  such  good  resemblances  that  I  think  I  should 
have  known  him  untold,  he  has  by  no  means  the  look  to 
be  expected  from  Bonaparte,  but  rather  that  of  a  profoundly 
studious  and  contemplative  man,  who  "  o'er  books  con- 
sumes "  not  only  the  "  midnight  oil,"  but  his  own  daily 
strength,  "  and  wastes  the  puny  body  to  decay  "  by  ab- 
struse speculation  and  theoretic  plans,  or  rather  visions, 
ingenious  but  not  practicable.  But  the  look  of  the  com- 
mander who  heads  his  own  army,  who  fights  his  own  bat- 
tles, who  conquers  every  difficulty  by  personal  exertion, 
who  executes  all  he  plans,  who  performs  even  all  he  sug- 
gests ;  whose  ambition  is  of  the  most  enterprising,  and 
whose  bravery  is  of  the  most  daring  cast :  —  this,  which  is 
the  look  to  be  expected  from  his  situation,  and  the  exploits 
which  have  led  to  it,  the  spectator  watches  for  in  vain. 
The  plainness,  also,  of  his  dress,  so  conspicuously  con- 
trasted by  the  finery  of  all  around  him,  conspires  forcibly 
with  his  countenance,  so  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  hue 
of  thought,"  to  give  him  far  more  the  air  of  a  student  than 
a  warrior. 

The  intense  attention  with  which  I  fixed  him  in  this 


1802. J  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  429 

short  but  complete  view  made  me  entirely  forget  the  lady 
who  had  promised  me  to  hold  him  in  conference.  When 
he  had  passed,  however,  she  told  me  it  was  upon  his  return 
she  should  address  him,  as  he  was  too  much  hurried  to  be 
talked  with  at  the  moment  of  going  to  the  parade.  I  was 
glad  to  find  my  chance  not  over,  and  infinitely  curious  to 
know  what  was  to  follow. 

The  review  I  shall  attempt  no  description  of.  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  no  fondness  for  its  object. 
It  was  far  more  superb  than  anything  I  had  ever  beheld  ; 
but  while  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war  animated 
others,  it  only  saddened  me ;  and  all  of  past  reflection,  all 
of  future  dread,  made  the  whole  grandeur  of  the  martial 
scene,  and  all  the  delusive  seduction  of  martial  music,  fill 
my  eyes  frequently  with  tears,  but  not  regale  my  poor 
muscles  with  one  single  smile. 

Bonaparte,  mounting  a  beautiful  and  spirited  white  horse, 
closely  encircled  by  his  glittering  aides-de-camp,  and  ac- 
companied by  his  generals,  rode  round  the  ranks,  liolding 
his  bridle  indifferently  in  either  hand,  and  seeming  utterly 
careless  of  the  prancing,  rearing,  or  other  freaks  of  his 
horse,  insomuch  as  to  strike  some  who  were  near  me  with 
the  notion  of  his  being  a  bad  horseman.  I  am  the  last  to  be 
a  judge  upon  this  subject ;  but  as  a  remarker,  he  only  ap- 
peared to  me  a  man  who  knew  so  well  he  could  manage 
the  animal  when  he  pleased,  that  he  did  not  deem  it  worth 
his  while  to  keep  constantly  in  order  what  he  knew,  if 
urged  or  provoked,  he  could  subdue  in  a  moment. 

Precisely  opposite  to  the  window  at  which  I  was  placed, 
the  Chief  Consul  stationed  himself  after  making  his  round  ; 
and  thence  he  presented  some  swords  of  honor,  spreading 
out  one  arm  with  an  air  and  mien  which  changed  his  look 
from  that  of  scholastic  severity  to  one  that  was  highly 
military  and  commanding. 


430  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

Just  as  the  consular  band,  with  their  brazen  drums  as 
well  as  trumpets,  marched  facing  the  First  Consul,  the  sun 
broke  suddenly  out  from  the  clouds  which  had  obscured  it 
all  the  morning ;  and  the  effect  was  so  abrupt,  and  so  daz- 
zling, that  I  could  not  help  observing  it  to  my  friend,  the 
wife  of  mami,  who,  eying  me  with  great  surprise,  not  un- 
mixed with  the  compassion  of  contempt,  said,  — 

"  Est-ce  que  vous  ne  savez  pas  cela,  Madame  ?  D^s  que 
le  Premier  Consul  vient  a  la  parade,  le  soleil  vient  aussi ! 
II  a  beau  pleuvoir  tout  le  matin  ;  c'est  ^gal,  il  n'a  qnk 
paraitre,  et  tout  de  suite  il  fait  beau." 

I  apologized  for  my  ignorance  ;  but  doubt  whether  it 
was  forgiven. 

The  review  over,  the  Chief  Consvil  returned  to  the  palace. 
The  lines  were  again  formed,  and  he  re-entered  our  apart- 
ment with  his  suite.  As  soon  as  he  approached  our  win- 
dow, I  observed  my  first  acquaintance  start  a  little  forward. 
I  was  now  all  attention  to  her  performance  of  her  promise ; 
and  just  as  he  reached  us  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
present  him  —  a  petition  ! 

The  enigma  of  the  conference  was  now  solved,  and  I 
laughed  at  my  own  wasted  expectation.  Luiparler,  how- 
ever, the  lady  certainly  did ;  so  far  she  kept  her  word  ;  for 
when  he  had  taken  the  scroll,  and  was  passing  on,  she 
rushed  out  of  the  line,  and  planting  herself  immediately 
before  him,  so  as  to .  prevent  his  walking  on,  screamed, 
rather  than  spoke,  for  her  voice  was  shrill  with  impetu- 
osity to  be  heard  and  terror  of  failure,  "  C'est  pour  mon 
fils  !  vous  me  I'avez  promis  ! " 

The  First  Consul  stopped  and  spoke  ;  but  not  loud 
enough  for  me  to  hear  his  voice ;  while  his  aides-de-camp 
and  the  attending  generals  surrounding  him  more  closely, 
all  in  a  breath  rapidly  said  to  the  lady,  "Votre  nom, 
Madame,  votre  nom ! "    trying  to  disengage   the   Consul 


1802.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAT.  431 

from  her  importunity,  in  which  they  succeeded,  but  not 
with  much  ease,  as  she  seemed  purposing  to  cling  to  him 
till  she  got  his  personal  answer.  He  faintly  smiled  as  he 
passed  on,  but  looking  harassed  and  worn ;  while  she, 
turning  to  me,  with  an  exulting  face  and  voice,  exclaimed, 
"  Je  I'aurai !  je  I'aurai !  "  meaning  what  she  had  petitioned 

for  — "  car tons  ces  Generaux    m'ont   demand^ 

mon  nom  !  "     Could  any  inference  be  clearer  ? 

The  moment  the  Chief  Consul  had  ascended  the  steps 
leading  to  the  inner  apartment,  the  gentlemen  in  black  with 
gold  chains  gave  a  general  hint  that  all  the  company  must 
depart,  as  the  ambassadors  and  the  ministers  were  now 
summoned  to  their  monthly  public  audience  with  the  Chief 
Consul.  The  crowd,  however,  was  so  great,  and  Madame 
d'H^nin  was  so  much  incommoded,  and  half  ill,  I  fear,  by 
internal  suffering,  that  M.  d'Arblay  procured  a  pass  for  us 
by  a  private  door  down  to  a  terrace  leading  to  a  quiet  exit 
from  the  palace  into  the  Tuileries'  garden.  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Burney. 

Paris,  1802. 
"With  the  nearest  relatives  now  existing  of  M.  d'Arblay 
I  am  myself  more  pleased  than  I  can  tell  you.  We  have 
spent  a  fortnight  at  Joigny,  and  found  them  all  awaiting  us 
with  the  most  enthusiastic  determination  to  receive  with 
open  arms  and  open  heart  the  choice  and  the  offspring  of 
their  returned  exile.  Their  kindness  has  truly  penetrated 
me  ;  and  the  heads  of  the  family,  the  uncle  and  the  aunt,  are 
so  charming  as  well  as  so  worthy,  that  I  could  have  re- 
mained with  them  for  months  had  not  the  way  of  life 
which  their  residence  in  a  country  town  has  forced  them 
to  adopt  been  utterly  at  war  with  all  that,  to  me,  makes 


432  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1802. 

peace,  and  happiness,  and  cheerfulness,  namely,  the  real 
domestic  life  of  living  with  my  own  small  but  all-sufficient 
family.  I  have  never  loved  a  dissipated  life,  which  it  is  no 
virtue  in  me,  therefore,  to  relinquish ;  but  I  now  far  less 
than  ever  can  relish  it,  and  know  not  how  to  enjoy  any- 
thing away  from  home,  except  by  distant  intervals ;  and 
then  with  that  real  moderation,  I  am  so  far  from  being  a 
misanthrope  or  sick  of  the  world,  that  T  have  real  pleasure 
in  mixed  society.  It  is  difficult,  however,  in  the  extreme, 
to  be  able  to  keep  to  such  terms.  M.  d'Arblay  has  so 
many  friends,  and  an  acquaintance  so  extensive,  that  the 
mere  common  decencies  of  established  etiquette  demand,  as 
yet,  nearly  all  my  time ;  and  this  has  been  a  true  fatigue 
both  to  my  body  and  my  spirits. 

I  am  now  endeavoring  to  make  an  arrangement,  after  a 
fashion  of  my  own,  to  put  an  end  to  these  claims,  at  least, 
to  their  being  fulfilled.  I  am  sure  I  shall  have  a  far  better 
chance  to  do  well  by  those  I  mix  with,  as  well  as  by  my- 
self, if  I  succeed;  for  my  voice  is  as  wearied  of  pronouncing 
as  my  brain  is  wearied  in  searching  words  to  pronounce. 
All  I  experienced,  however,  from  company,  interruption, 
and  visiting  at  Paris  was  so  short  of  what  I  found  at 
Joigny,  that,  in  the  comparison,  I  seemed  completely  mis- 
tress of  my  time  ;  for  at  Joigny  I  can  truly  affirm  I  never 
had  one  hour,  or  even  half  a  one,  to  myself.  By  myself  I 
mean  to  our  three  selves. 

M.  d'Arblay  is  related,  though  very  distantly,  to  a 
quarter  of  the  town,  and  the  other  three-quarters  are  his 
friends  or  acquaintance  ;  and  all  of  them  came,  first,  to  see 
me  ;  next,  to  know  how  I  did  after  the  journey ;  next,  were 
all  to  be  waited  upon  in  return  ;  next,  came  to  thank  me 
for  my  visit ;  next,  to  know  how  the  air  of  Joigny  agreed 
with  me;  next,  to  make  a  little  further  acquaintance;  and, 
finally,  to  make  a  visit  of  cong^.    And  yet  all  were  so  civil, 


1808.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  433 

SO  pleasant,  and  so  pleased  with  my  Monsieur's  return,  that 
could  I  have  lived  three  lives,  so  as  to  have  had  some  res- 
pite. I  could  not  have  found  fault ;  for  it  was  scarcely 
ever  with  the  individual  intruder,  but  with  the  continuance 
or  repetition  of  interruption.  F.  d'A. 


Dr.  Biiniey  to  Madame  d' Arblay. 

June  12,  1803. 

My  dear  Fanny, —  The  complaint  made  in  one  of  two 
short  notes  I  have  received,  of  letters  never  answered,  old 
Charles  returns,  as  his  account  of  family  affairs,  he  finds, has 
never  reached  you.  Indeed,  for  the  last  two  or  three  years, 
I  have  had  nothing  good  to  say  of  own  self,  and  I  peremp- 
torily charged  all  the  rest  of  the  family  to  say  nothing  had 
on  the  subject  of  health,  for  I  nevef  understood  the  kind- 
ness of  alarming  distant  friends  with  accounts  of  severe 
illness,  as  we  may  be  recovered  or  dead  before  the  informa- 
tion reaches  them. 

Last  autumn  I  had  an  alarming  seizure  in  my  left  hand ; 
and,  mine  being  pronounced  a  Bath  case,  on  Christmas  Eve 
I  set  out  for  that  city,  extremely  weak  and  dispirited  — 
put  myself  under  the  care  of  Dr.  Parry,  and  after  remain- 
ing there  three  months  I  found  my  hand  much  more  alive, 
and  my  general  health  considerably  amended. 

r)uring  my  invalidity  at  Bath  I  had  an  unexpected  visit 
from  your  Streatham  friend,  of  whom  I  had  lost  sight  for 
more  than  ten  years.  I  saw  very  few  people,  but  none  of 
an  evening  nor  of  a  morning,  on  the  days  my  hand  was 
pumped  on.  When  her  name  was  sent  in  I  was  much 
surprised,  but  desired  she  might  be  admitted  ;  and  I  re- 
ceived her  as  an  old  friend  with  whom  I  had  spent  much 
time  very  happily,  and  never  wished  to  quarrel.  She  still 
looks  well,  but  is  grave,  and  candor  itself ;  though  still  she 
VOL.  n.  28 


434  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1808. 

says  good  things,  and  writes  admirable  notes  and  letters, 
I  am  told,  to  my  granddaughters  C.  and  M.,  of  whom  she 
is  very  fond.  We  shook  hands  very  cordially,  and  avoided 
any  allusion  to  our  long  separation  and  its  cause ;  the  Caro 
Sposo  still  lives,  but  is  such  an  object  from  the  gout  that 
the  account  of  his  sufferings  made  me  pity  him  sincerely; 
he  wished,  she  told  me,  "  to  see  his  old  and  woithy  friend," 
and,  un  heau  'rnatin,  I  could  not  refuse  compliance  with  his 
wish.  She  nurses  him  with  great  affection  and  tenderness, 
never  goes  out  or  has  company  when  he  is  in  pain.  God 
bless  you  and  yours,  prays  —  your  very  affectionate  Padre. 


Madame  d^ Arblay  to  Dr.  Bnrtiey,  Chelsea. 

ce  16  Septembre,  1807. 

My  most  dear  Father,  —  I  have  just  received  a  kind 
offer  to  send  a  few  lines  to  the  spot  whence  my  most  ar- 
dent wishes  are  to  receive  many,  but  whence  the  hand- 
writing that  most  of  all  I  sigh  to  behold  lias  not  blessed 
my  sight  since  the  return  of  Madame  de  Cadignan.  Nor 
have  I  ever  heard  whether  the  last  six  letters  I  have 
written  have  as  yet  been  received.  Two  of  them  were 
antiques  that  had  waited  three  or  four  years  some  oppor- 
tunity ;  a  third  was  concerning  the  Institute,  and  M.  le 
Breton's  wish  to  see  you  installed  one  of  the  foreign  mem- 
bers and  correspondents ;  the  two  last  were  to  reach  you 
through  a  voyage  by  America,  and  therefore  may  not  yet  be 
arrived.  I  do  not  count  the  few  lines  sent  by  JMaria,  though 
to  obtain  even  a  smaller  mite  myself  would  fill  me  with 
joy  and  thankfulness. 

21  A(y^t,  1808. — -The  expected  opportunity  for  which  I 
had  strung  this  lamentable  list  of  unacknowledged  claims, 
nearly  a  twelvemonth  since,  failed  ;  another  at  this  mo- 


1808.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  435 

ment  offers  —  may  it  prove  more  propitious  !  Could  it  but 
rebound  to  me  witli  news  of  your  health,  such  as  it  con- 
veys from  hence  of  ours,  how  should  I  bless  it !  But  an 
intercourse  such  as  that  must  wait  for  other  blessings  than 
mine  —  the  blessings  of  peace  —  and  those,  the  whole 
wounded  universe  would  surely  join  to  hail.  My  paper  is 
so  stinted,  and  my  time  so  limited,  that  I  can  begin  no 
regular  account  of  our  proceedings,  which,  indeed,  have 
but  little  varied  since  we  lost  Maria.  0  that  any  one 
could  give  me  here  the  history  of  yours  !  I  am  in  such 
terrible  arrears  of  all  such  knowledge  th^t  I  know  not 
who  will  ever  undertake  to  pay  me.  JNIy  last  intelligence 
was  that  you  were  well,  my  dearest  father,  and  that  the 
family  at  large,  in  that  at  least,  imitated  you.  But  details 
—  none,  none  reach  me  !  I  have  a  bitter  anxiety  of  sus- 
pense upon  some  subjects  very  near  my  heart.  Not  even 
the  loved  names  of  any  of  my  family  now  reach  me  ; 
Esther,  James,  Charles,  Charlotte,  Sally,  with  all  their 
younger  selves,  and  Eichard  and  his  boys,  all  are  sounds 
strange  to  my  ears,  and  my  beloved  friends  of  Norbury  are 
banished  thence  with  the  same  rigor  I  I  am  sad,  sad  indeed, 
at  this  deprivation ;  though  in  all  else  I  am  still  and 
constantly  happy,  for  in  my  two  faithful  companions  I 
find  sympathy  in  all  my  feelings,  and  food,  sweet  food  for 
all  my  hopes.  F.  d'A. 


Madame  d^ Arblay  to  Dr.  Biirney. 

September,  1808. 

After  being  so  long  robbed  of  all  means  of  writing  to 
my  beloved  father,  I  seize,  with  nearly  as  much  surprise 
as  gratitude,  a  second  opportunity  of  addressing  him  almost 
before  the  first  can  have  brought  my  hand  to  his  sight. 
When  will  some  occasion  offer  to  bring  me  back  —  not  my 


436  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

revenge,  but  my  first  and  most  coveted  satisfaction  ?  With 
bow  mucb  more  spirit,  also,  should  I  write,  if  I  knew  what 
were  received  of  what  already  I  have  scrawled  !  Volumes, 
liowever,  must  have  been  told  you,  of  what  in  other  times 
I  should  have  written,  by  Maria.  For  myself,  when  once 
a  reunion  takes  place,  I  can  scarcely  conceive  which  will  be 
hardest  worked,  my  talking  faculties  or  my  listening  ones. 

0  what  millions  of  things  I  want  to  inquire  and  to  know  ! 
The  rising  generation,  methinks,  at  least,  might  keep  me 
some  letters  and  packets  ready  for  occasional  conveyances. 

1  should  be  grateful  beyond  measure.  M.  d'Arblay  writes 
—  "  How  desired  is,  how  happy  shall  be,  the  day  in  which 
we  shall  receive  your  dearest  blessing  and  embrace  !  Pray 
be  so  kind  not  to  forget  the  mate,  always  remembering 
your  kindness  for  him  and  his.  A  thousand  thousand 
loves  to  all." 

[During  this  year  Madame  d'Arblay's  correspondence 
with  her  English  connections  was  interrupted  not  only  by 
the  difficulty  of  conveying  letters,  but  also  by  a  dangerous 
illness  and  the  menace  of  a  cancer,  from  which  she  could 
only  be  relieved  by  submitting  to  a  painful  and  hazardous 
operation.  The  fortitude  with  which  she  bore  this  suffer- 
ing, and  her  generous  solicitude  for  Monsieur  d'Arblay  and 
those  around  her,  excited  the  warmest  sympathy  in  all  who 
heard  of  her  trial,  and  her  Frencli  friends  universally  gave 
her  the  name  of  L'Ange  ;  so  touched  were  they  by  her  ten- 
derness and  magnanimity.] 


Journal  from  Paris  to  London. 

Dunkirk,  1812. 
There  are  few  events  of  my  life  that  I  more  regret  not 
having  committed  to  paper  while  they  were  fresher  in  my 


1812.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  437 

memory,  than  my  police  adventure  at  Dunkirk,  the  most 
fearful  that  I  have  ever  experienced,  though  not,  alas,  the 
most  afflicting,  for  terror,  and  even  horror,  are  short  of  deep 
affliction ;  while  they  last  they  are,  nevertheless,  absorbers  ; 
but  once  past,  whether  ill  or  well,  they  are  over,  and  from 
them,  as  from  bodily  pain,  the  animal  spirits  can  rise 
uninjured  :  not  so  from  that  grief  which  has  its  source  in 
irremediable  calamity ;  from  that  there  is  no  rising,  no 
relief,  save  in  hopes  of  eternity :  for  here  on  earth  all 
buoyancy  of  mind  that  might  produce  the  return  of  peace 
is  sunk  for  ever.  I  will  now,  however,  put  down  all  that 
recurs  to  me  of  my  first  return  home. 

In  the  year  1810,  when  I  had  been  separated  from  my 
dear  father,  and  country,  and  native  friends,  for  eight 
years,  my  desire  to  again  see  them  became  so  anxiously 
impatient  that  my  tender  companion  proposed  my  passing 
over  to  England  alone,  to  spend  a  month  or  two  at  Chel- 
sea. Many  females  at  that  period,  and  amongst  them  the 
young  Duchesse  de  Duras,  had  contrived  to  procure  pass- 
ports for  a  short  similar  excursion  ;  though  no  male  was 
permitted,  under  any  pretence,  to  quit  France,  save  with 
the  army. 

Eeluctantly  —  with  all  my  wishes  in  favor  of  the  scheme 
—  yet  most  reluctantly,  I  accepted  the  generous  offer  ;  for 
never  did  I  know  happiness  away  from  that  companion, 
no,  not  even  out  of  his  sight !  but  still,  I  was  consuming 
with  solicitude  to  see  my  revered  father  —  to  be  again  in 
his  kind  arras,  and  receive  his  kind  benediction. 

For  this  all  was  settled,  and  I  had  obtained  my  passport, 
which  was  brought  to  me  without  my  even  going  to  the 
police  office,  by  the  especial  favor  of  M.  le  Breton,  the 
Secr(5taire  Perpetuel  a  Vlnstitut.  The  ever  active  services 
of  M.  de  Narbonne  aided  this  peculiar  grant ;  though,  had 
not  Bonaparte  been  abroad  with  his  army  at  the  time, 


438  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

neither  the  one  nor  the  other  would  have  ventured  at  so 
hardy  a  measure  of  assistance.  But  whenever  Bonaparte 
left  Paris,  there  was  always  an  immediate  abatement  of 
severity  in  the  police  ;  and  Fouche,  though  he  had  borne  a 
character  dreadful  beyond  description  in  the  earlier  and 
most  horrible  times  of  the  Eevolution,  was,  at  this  period, 
when  Ministre  de  la  Police,  a  man  of  the  mildest  manners, 
the  most  conciliatory  conduct,  and  of  the  easiest  access  in 
Paris.  He  had  least  the  glare  of  the  new  imperial  court 
of  any  one  of  its  administration  ;  he  affected  indeed  all  the 
simplicity  of  a  plain  Republican.  I  have  often  seen  him 
strolling  in  the  most  shady  and  unfrequented  parts  of  the 
Mysian  Fields,  muffled  up  in  a  plain  brown  rocolo,  and 
giving  his  arm  to  his  wife,  without  suite  or  servant,  merely 
taking  the  air,  with  the  evident  design  of  enjoying  also  an 
unmolested  tete-a-tete.  On  these  occasions,  though  he 
was  universally  known,  nobody  approached  him  ;  and  he 
seemed,  himself,  not  to  observe  that  any  other  person  was 
in  the  walks.  He  was  said  to  be  remarkably  agreeable 
in  conversation,  and  his  person  was  the  best  fashioned  and 
most  gentlemanly  of  any  man  I  have  happened  to  see, 
belonging  to  the  government.  Yet,  such  was  the  impres- 
sion made  upon  me  by  the  dreadful  reports  that  were 
spread  of  his  cruelty  and  ferocity  at  Lyons,  that  I  never 
saw  him  but  I  thrilled  with  horror.  How  great,  therefore, 
was  my  obligation  to  M.  de  ISTarbonne  and  to  M.  le  Breton, 
for  procuring  me  a  passport,  without  my  personal  applica- 
tion to  a  man  from  whom  I  shrunk  as  from  a  monster. 

I  forget  now  for  what  spot  the  passport  was  nominated 
—  perhaps  for  Canada,  but  certainly  not  for  England  ;  and 
M.  le  Breton,  wlio  brought  it  to  me  himself,  assured  me 
that  no  difficulty  would  be  made  for  me  either  to  go  or  to 
return,  as  I  was  known  to  have  lived  a  life  the  most  inof- 
fensive to  government,  and  perfectly  free  from  all  species 


1812.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  439 

of  political  intrigue,  and  as  I  should  leave  behind  me  such 
sacred  hostages  as  my  husband  and  my  son. 

Thus  armed,  and  thus  authorized,  I  prepared,  quietly 
and  secretly,  for  my  expedition,  while  my  generous  mate 
employed  all  his  little  leisure  in  discovering  where  and 
how  I  might  embark  ;  when,  one  morning,  when  I  was  bend- 
ing over  my  trunk  to  press  in  its  contents,  I  was  abruptly 
broken  in  upon  by  M.  de  Boinville,  who  was  in  my  secret, 
and  who  called  upon  me  to  stop  !  He  had  received  certain, 
he  said,  though  as  yet  unpublished  information,  that  a  uni- 
versal embargo  was  laid  upon  every  vessel,  and  that  not  a 
fishing-boat  was  permitted  to  quit  the  coast. 

Confounded,  affrighted,  disappointed,  and  yet  relieved,  I 
submitted  to  the  blow,  and  obeyed  the  injunction.  M.  de 
Boinville  then  revealed  to  me  the  new  political  changes 
that  occasioned  this  measure,  Mdiich  he  had  learned  from 
some  confiding  friends  in  office ;  but  which  I  do  not  touch 
upon,  as  they  are  now  in  every  history  of  those  times. 

I  pass  on  to  my  second  attempt,  in  the  year  1812.  Dis- 
astrous was  that  interval !  All  correspondence  with  Eng- 
land was  prohibited  under  pain  of  death  !  One  letter  only 
reached  me,  most  unhappily,  written  with  unreflecting  ab- 
ruptness, announcing,  without  preface,  the  death  of  the 
Princess  Amelia,  tlie  new  and  total  derangement  of  the 
King,  and  the  death  of  Mr.  Locke.  Three  such  calamities 
overwhelmed  me,  ov^erwhelmed  us  both,  for  Mr.  Locke,  my 
revered  Mr.  Locke,  was  as  dear  to  my  beloved  partner  as 
to  myself.  Poor  Mrs.  *  *  *  *  concluded  these  tidings  must 
have  already  arrived,  but  her  fatal  letter  gave  the  first  in- 
telligence, and  no  other  letter,  at  that  period,  found  its 
way  to  me.  She  sent  hers,  I  think,  by  some  trusty  re- 
turned prisoner. 

She  little  knew  my  then  terrible  situation  ;  hovering 
over  my  head  was  the  stiletto  of  a  surgeon  for  a  menace  of 


440  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

cancer;  yet,  till  that  moment,  hope  of  escape  had  always 
been  held  out  to  me  by  the  Baron  de  Larrey  —  hope 
which,  from  the  reading  of  that  fatal  letter,  became  extinct. 
When  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  for  travelling,  after  a 
dreadful  operation,  my  plan  was  resumed  ;  but  with  an 
alteration  which  added  infinitely  to  its  interest,  as  well  as 
to  its  importance.  Bonaparte  was  now  engaging  in  a  new 
war,  of  which  the  aim  and  intention  was  no  less  than  — 
the  conquest  of  the  world.  This  menaced  a  severity  of 
conscription  to  which  Alexander,  who  had  now  spent  ten 
years  in  France,  and  was  seventeen  years  of  age,  would 
soon  become  liable.  His  noble  father  had  relinquished  all 
his  own  hopes  and  emoluments  in  the  military  career,  from 
the  epoch  that  his  king  was  separated  from  his  country ; 
though  that  career  had  been  his  peculiar  choice,  and  was 
suited  peculiarly  to  the  energy  of  his  character,  the  vigor 
of  his  constitution,  his  activity,  his  address,  his  bravery, 
his  spirit  of  resource,  never  overset  by  difficulty  nor  wea- 
ried by  fatigue  —  all  which  combination  of  military  re- 
quisites — 

"  The  eye  could  in  a  moment  reach, 

And  read  depicted  in  his  martial  air." 

But  his  high  honor,  superior  to  his  interest,  superior  to 
his  inclination,  and  ruling  his  whole  conduct  with  unremit- 
^  ting,  unalienable  constancy,  impelled  him  to  prefer  the  hard 
labor  and  obscure  drudgery  of  working  at  a  Bureau  of  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior,  to  any  and  every  advantage  or 
promotion  that  could  be  offered  him  in  his  own  immediate 
and  favorite  line  of  life,  when  no  longer  compatible  with 
his  allegiance  and  loyalty.  To  see,  therefore,  his  son  bear 
arms  in  the  very  cause  that  had  been  his  ruin  —  bear  arms 
against  the  country  which  had  given  himself  as  well  as  his 
mother  birth,  would  indeed  have  been  heart-breaking. 
We  agreed,  therefore,  that  Alexander  should  accompany 


1812.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  441 

me  to  England,  where,  I  flattered  myself,  I  might  safely 
deposit  him,  while  I  returned  to  await,  by  the  side  of  my 
husband,  the  issue  of  the  war,  in  the  fervent  hope  that  it 
would  prove  our  restoration  to  liberty  and  re-union. 

My  second  passport  was  procured  with  much  less  facility 
than  the  first.  Fouch^  was  no  longer  Minister  of  Police, 
and,  strange  to  tell,  Fouche,  who,  till  he  became  that  min- 
ister, had  been  held  in  horror  by  all  France, —  all  Europe, 
—  conducted  himself  with  such  conciliatory  mildness  to 
all  ranks  of  people  while  in  that  office,  evinced  such  an 
appearance  of  humanity,  and  exerted  such  an  undaunted 
spirit  of  justice  in  its  execution,  that  at  his  dismissal  all 
Paris  was  in  affliction  and  dismay  !  Was  this  from  the 
real  merit  he  had  shown  in  his  police  capacity  ?  Or  was 
it  from  a  yet  greater  fear  of  malignant  cruelty  awak- 
ened by  the  very  name  of  his  successor,  Savary,  Duke  of 
Eovigo  ?  ^ 

Now,  as  before,  the  critical  moment  was  seized  by  my 
friends  to  act  for  me  when  Bonaparte  had  left  Paris  to 
proceed  towards  the  scene  of  his  next  destined  enterprise  ; 
and  he  was,  I  believe,  already  at  Dresden  when  my  appli- 
cation was  made.     My  kind   friend,  Madame  de  T , 

here  took  the  agency  which  M.  de  Narbonne  could  no 
longer  sustain,  as  he  was  now  attending  the  Emperor,  to 
whom  he  had  been  made  aide-de-camp,  and  through  her 
means,  after  many  difficulties  and  delays,  I  obtained  a  li- 
cense of  departure  for  myself  and  for  Alexander.  For 
what  place,  nominally,  my  passport  was  assigned,  I  do  not 
recollect ;  T  think  for  ISTewfoundland,  but  certainly  for  some 
part  of  the  coast  of  America.  Yet  everybody  at  the  police 
ofi&ce  saw  and  knew  that  England  was  my  object.  They 
connived,  nevertheless,  at  the  accomplishment  of  my  wishes, 
with  significant  though  taciturn  consciousness. 

1  The  reputed  assassin  of  the  Duke  d'Enghieiu 


442  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1812. 

From  all  the  friends  whom  I  dared  trust  with  my  secret 
expedition,  I  had  commissions  for  London ;  though  merely 
verbal,  as  I  was  cautioned  to  take  no  letters.  No  one,  at 
that  time,  could  send  any  to  England  by  the  post.  I  M-as 
charged  by  sundry  persons  to  write  for  them,  and  in  their 
Dames,  upon  my  arrival.  jNIadame  de  Tracy  begged  me  to 
discover  the  address  of  her  sister-in-law,  Madame  de  Civ- 
rac,  who  had  emigrated  into  the  wilds  of  Scotland,  and  of 
whom  she  anxiously  wished  for  some  intelligence.  This 
occasioned  my  having  a  little  correspondence  with  her, 
which  I  now  remark  because  she  is  named  as  one  of  the 
principal  Dames  de  la  Society  by  Madame  de  Genlis. 
Madame  d'Astorre  desired  me  to  find  out  her  father,  M. 
Le  Comte  de  Cely,  and  to  give  him  news  of  her  and  her 
children.  This  I  did,  and  received  from  the  old  gentleman 
some  visits  and  many  letters.  Madame  la  Princesse  de 
Chimay  entrusted  me  with  a  petition  —  a  verbal  one,  to 
the  Prince  of  AVales,  in  favor  of  the  Due  de  Fitzjames, 
who,  in  losing  his  wife,  had  lost  an  English  pension.  This 
I  was  to  transmit  to  his  Royal  Highness  by  means  of  the 
Duchess  Dowager  of  Buccleugh  ;  who  was  also  entreated 
to  make  known  the  Duke's  situation  to  M.  d'Escars,  who 
was  in  the  immediate  service  of  Louis  XVIII. ;  for  M. 
d'Escars  I  had  a  sort  of  cipher  from  Madame  de  Chimay, 
to  authenticate  my  account. 

Our  journey  —  Alexander's  and  mine  —  from  Paris  to 
Dunkirk  was  sad,  from  the  cruel  separation  which  it  ex- 
acted, and  the  fearful  uncertainty  of  impending  events  ; 
though  I  was  animated  at  times  into  the  liveliest  sensations, 
in  the  prospect  of  again  beholding  my  father,  my  friends, 
and  my  country. 

General  d'Arblay,  through  his  assiduous  researches, 
aided  by  those  of  M.  de  Boinville  and  some  others,  found 
that  a  vessel  was  preparing  to  sail  from  Dunkirk  to  Dover, 


1812.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  443 

under  American  colors,  and  with  American  passports  and 
license  ;  and,  after  privately  landing  such  of  its  passengers 
as  meant  but  to  cross  the  Channel,  to  proceed  to  tlie  west- 
ern continents.  M.  d'Arblay  foiind,  at  the  same  time,  six 
or  seven  pefsons  of  his  acquaintance  who  were  to  embark 
in  this  vessel,  namely,  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Cocherelle,  Madame  de  Carboniere,  Madame  de  Ronche- 
rolle,  Madame  de  Caillebot  and  her  son  and  daughter,  tlie 
two  Miss  Potts,  and  Mrs.  Gregory. 

We  all  met,  and  severally  visited  at  Dunkirk,  where  I 
was  compelled,  through  the  mismanagement  and  miscon- 
duct of  the  captain  of  the  vessel,  to  spend  the  most  pain- 
fully wearisome  six  weeks  of  my  life,  for  they  kept  me 
alike  from  all  that  was  dearest  to  me,  either  in  France  or 
in  England,  save  my  Alexander.  I  was  twenty  times  on 
the  point  of  returning  to  Paris ;  but  M'henever  I  made 
known  that  design,  the  captain  promised  to  sail  the  next 
morning.  The  truth  is,  he  postponed  the  voyage  from  day 
to  day  and  from  week  to  week,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining 
more  passengers  ;  and,  as  the  clandestine  visit  he  meant  to 
make  to  Dover,  in  his  way  to  America,  was  whispered 
about,  reinforcements  very  frequently  encouraged  his 
cupidity. 

The  enyiui  of  having  no  positive  occupation  was  now,  for 
the  first  time,  known  to  me ;  for  though  the  first  object  of 
my  active  cares  was  with  me,  it  was  not  as  if  that  object 
had  been  a  daughter,  and  always  at  my  side ;  it  was  a 
youth  of  seventeen,  who,  with  my  free  consent,  sought 
whatever  entertainment  the  place  could  afford,  to  while 
away  fatigue.  He  ran,  therefore,  wildly  about  at  his 
pleasure,  to  the  quay,  the  dockyard,  the  sea,  the  suburbs, 
the  surrounding  country  ;  but  chiefly,  his  time  was  spent 
in  skipping  to  the  "  Mary  Ann,"  our  destined  vessel,  and 
seeing  its  preparations  for  departure. 


444  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

To  stroll  about  the  town,  to  call  upon  my  fellow-suffer- 
ers, to  visit  the  principal  shops,  and  to  talk  with  the  good 
Dutch  people  while  I  made  slight  purchases,  was  all  I 
could  devise  to  do  that  required  action. 

When  I  found  our  stay  indefinitely  protracted,  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  if  I  had  the  papers  of  a  work  which  I 
had  then  in  hand,  they  might  afford  me  an  occupation  to 
while  away  my  truly  vapid  and  uninteresting  leisure.  I 
wrote  this  idea  to  my  'partner  in  all  —  as  M.  de  Talleyrand 
had  called  M.  d'Arblay;  and,  with  a  spirit  that  was  al- 
ways in  its  first  youth  where  any  service  was  to  be  per- 
formed, he  waited  on  M.  de  Saulnier  at  the  police  office, 
and  made  a  request  that  my  manuscripts  might  be  sent 
after  me,  with  a  permission  that  I  might  also  be  allowed 
to  carry  them  with  me  on  board  the  ship.  He  durst  not 
say  to  England,  whither  no  vessel  was  supposed  to  sail ; 
but  he  would  not,  to  M.  de  Saulnier,  who  palpably  con- 
nived at  my  plan  and  purpose,  say  America.  M.  de  Saul- 
nier made  many  inquiries  relative  to  these  papers ;  but  on 
being  assured,  upon  honor,  that  the  work  had  nothing  in  it 
political,  nor  even  national,  nor  possibly  offensive  to  the 
government,  he  took  the  single  w^ord  of  M.  d'Arblay, 
whose  noble  countenance  and  dauntless  openness  of  man- 
ner were  guarantees  of  sincerity  that  wanted  neither  seals 
nor  bonds,  and  invested  him  with  the  power  to  send  me 
what  papers  he  pleased,  without  demanding  to  examine,  or 
even  to  see  them  —  a  trust  so  confiding  and  so  generous, 
that  I  have  regretted  a  thousand  times  the  want  of  means 
to  acknowledge  it  according  to  its  merit. 

This  work  was  "  The  Wanderer,  or  Female  Difficulties," 
of  which  nearly  three  volumes  were  finished.  They  ar- 
rived, nevertheless,  vainly  for  any  purpose  at  Dunldrk ; 
the  disturbance  of  my  suspensive  state  incapacitating  me 
for  any  composition,  save  of  letters  to  ray  best  friend,  to 


1812.]  OF  MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  445 

whom  I  wrote,  or  dictated  by  Alexander,  every  day ;  and 
every  day  was  only  supported  by  the  same  kind  diurnal 
return.  But  when,  at  length,  we  were  summoned  to  the 
vessel,  and  our  goods  and  chattels  were  conveyed  to  the 
custom-house,  and  when  the  little  portmanteau  was  pro- 
duced, and  found  to  be  filled  with  manuscripts,  the  police 
officer  who  opened  it  began  a  rant  of  indignation  and 
amazement  at  a  sight  so  unexpected  and  prohibited,  that 
made  him  incapable  to  inquire  or  to  hear  the  meaning  of 
such  a  freight.  He  sputtered  at  the  mouth,  and  stamped 
with  his  feet,  so  forcibly  and  vociferously,  that  no  endeav- 
ors of  mine  could  induce  him  to  stop  his  accusations  of 
traitorous  designs,  till,  tired  of  the  attempt,  I  ceased  both 
explanation  and  entreaty,  and  stood  before  him  with  calm 
taciturnity.  Wanting,  then,  the  fresh  fuel  of  interruption 
or  opposition,  his  fire  and  fury  evaporated  into  curiosity  to 
know  what  I  could  offer.  Yet  even  then,  though  my  ac- 
count staggered  his  violence  into  some  degree  of  civility, 
he  evidently  deemed  it,  from  its  very  nature,  incredible ; 
and  this  fourth  child  of  my  brain  had  undoubtedly  been 
destroyed  ere  it  was  born,  had  I  not  had  recourse  to  an 
English  merchant,  Mr.  Gregory,  long  settled  at  Dunkirk, 
to  whom,  happily,  I  had  been  recommended,  as  to  a  per- 
son capable  in  any  emergence  to  afford  me  assistance  ;  he 
undertook  the  responsibility ;  and  the  letter  of  M.  d'Ar- 
blay,  containing  the  license  of  M.  de  Saulnier,  was  then 
all-sufficient  for  my  manuscripts  and  their  embarkation. 

The  second  event  I  have  to  relate  I  never  even  yet 
recollect  without  an  inward  shuddering.  In  our  walks  out 
of  the  town,  on  the  borders  of  the  Ocean,  after  passing  be- 
yond the  dockyard  or  wharf,  we  frequently  met  a  large 
party  of  Spanish  prisoners,  well  escorted  by  gens  d'armes, 
and  either  going  to  their  hard  destined  labor,  or  returning 
from  it  for  repast  or  repose.     I  felt  deeply  interested  by 


446  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

them,  knowing  they  were  men  with  and  for  whom  our  own 
English  and  the  immortal  Wellington  were  then  fighting : 
and  this  interest  induced  me  to  walk  on  the  bank  by  which 
they  were  paraded  to  and  fro,  as  often  as  I  could  engage 
Alexander,  from  his  other  pursuits,  to  accompany  me. 
Their  appearance  was  highly  in  their  favor,  as  well  as  their 
situation ;  they  had  a  look  calmly  intrepid,  of  concentrated 
resentment,  yet  unalterable  patience.  They  were  mostly 
strong-built  and  vigorous  ;  of  solemn,  almost  stately  de- 
portment, and  with  fine  dark  eyes,  full  of  meaning,  roll- 
ing arovmd  them  as  if  in  watchful  expectation  of  insult ; 
and  in  a  short  time  they  certainly  caught  from  my  counte- 
nance an  air  of  sympathy,  for  they  gave  me  in  return,  as 
we  passed  one  another,  a  glance  that  spoke  grateful  con- 
sciousness. I  followed  them  to  the  place  of  their  labor; 
though  my  short-sightedness  would  not  let  me  distinguish 
what  they  were  about,  whether  mending  fortifications, 
dykes,  banks,  parapets,  or  what  not :  and  I  durst  not  use 
my  glass,  lest  I  should  be  suspected  as  a  spy.  We  only 
strolled  about  in  their  vicinity,  as  if  merely  visiting  and 
viewing  the  sea. 

The  weather  —  it  was  now  August  —  was  so  intensely 
hot,  the  place  was  so  completely  without  shade,  and  their 
work  was  so  violent,  that  they  changed  hands  every  two 
hours,  and  those  who  were  sent  off'  to  recruit  were  allowed 
to  cast  themselves  upon  the  burnt  and  straw-like  grass,  to 
await  their  alternate  summons.  This  they  did  in  small 
groups,  but  without  venturing  to  solace  their  rest  by  any 
species  of  social  intercourse.  They  were  as  taciturn  with 
one  another  as  with  their  keepers  and  taskmasters. 

One  among  them  there  was  who  wore  an  air  of  superior- 
ity, grave  and  composed,  yet  decided,  to  which  they  all 
appeared  to  bow  down  with  willing  subserviency,  though 
the  distinction  was  only  demonstrated  by  an  air  of  pro- 


1812.]  OF   MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  447 

found  respect  whenever  they  approached  or  passed  him,  for 
discourse  held  they  none.  One  morning,  when  I  observed 
him  seated  at  a  greater  distance  than  usual  from  his  over- 
seers, during  his  hour  of  release,  I  turned  suddenly  from 
my  walk,  as  if  with  a  view  to  bend  my  way  homewards, 
but  contrived,  while  talking  with  Alexander  and  looking 
another  way,  to  slant  my  steps  close  to  where  he  sat  sur- 
rounded by  his  mute  adherents,  and  to  drop  a  handful  of 
small  coin  nearly  under  the  elbow  upon  which,  wearily,  he 
was  reclining.  We  proceeded  with  alertness,  and  talking- 
together  aloud ;  but  Alexander  perceived  this  apparent 
chief  evidently  moved  by  what  I  had  done,  though  for- 
bearing to  touch  the  little  offering,  which,  however,  his 
companions  immediately  secured. 

After  this  I  never  met  him  that  he  did  not  make  me  a 
slight  but  expressive  bow.  This  encouraged  me  to  repeat 
the  poor  little  tribute  of  compassion,  which  I  soon  found 
he  distributed,  as  far  as  it  would  go,  to  the  whole  set,  by 
the  kindly  looks  with  which  every  one  thenceforward 
greeted  me  upon  every  meeting.  Yet  he  whom  we  su})- 
posed  to  be  some  chief,  and  who  palpably  discovered  it  was 
himself  I  meant  to  distinguish,  never  touched  the  money, 
nor  examined  what  was  taken  up  by  the  others ;  who,  on 
their  part,  nevertheless  seemed  but  to  take  charge  of  it  in 
trust. 

We  were  now  such  good  friends,  that  this  became  more 
than  ever  my  favorite  walk  ;  and  these  poor  unhappy  cap- 
tives never  saw  me  without  brightening  up  into  a  vivacity 
of  pleasure  that  was  to  me  a  real  exhilaration. 

We  had  been  at  Dunkirk  above  five  weeks,  when  one 
evening,  having  a  letter  of  consequence  to  send  to  Paris,  I 
begged  Alexander  to  carry  it  to  the  Post  himself,  and  to 
deposit  me  upon  the  quay,  and  there  to  join  me.  As  the 
weather  was  very  fine  I  stood  near  the  sea,  wistfully  re- 


448  DIAEY  AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

garding  the  element  on  which  depended  all  my  present 
hopes  and  views.  But  presently  my  meditations  were  in- 
terrupted, and  my  thoughts  diverted  from  mere  self,  by  the 
sudden  entrance,  in  a  large  body,  of  my  friends  the  Spanisli 
prisoners,  who  all  bore  down  to  the  very  place  where  I  was 
stationed,  evidently  recognizing  me,  and  eagerly  showing 
that  it  was  not  without  extreme  satisfaction.  I  saw  their 
approach,  in  return,  with  lively  pleasure,  for,  the  quay  be- 
ing, I  suppose,  a  place  of  certain  security,  they  were  vm- 
encumbered  by  their  usual  guards,  the  gens  d'armes,  and 
this  freedom,  joined  to  their  surprise  at  my  sight,  put  them 
also  off  tlieir  guard,  and  they  flocked  round  though  not 
near  me,  and  hailed  me  with  smiles,  bows,  and  hands  put 
upon  their  breasts.  I  now  took  courage  to  speak  to  them, 
partly  in  French,  partly  in  English,  for  I  found  they  under- 
stood a  little  of  both  those  languages.  I  inquired  wlience 
they  came,  and  whether  they  knew  General  Wellington. 
They  smiled  and  nodded  at  his  name,  and  expressed  infinite 
delight  in  finding  I  was  English  ;  but  though  they  all, 
by  their  head  movements,  entered  into  discourse,  my  friend 
the  chief  was  tlie  only  one  who  attempted  to  answer  me. 

When  I  first  went  to  France,  being  continually  embar- 
rassed for  terms,  I  used  constantly  to  apply  to  M.  d'Arblay 
for  aid,  till  Madame  de  Tesse  charged  him  to  be  quiet,  say- 
ing that  my  looks  filled  up  what  my  words  left  short,  "de 
sorte  que"  she  added,  "  noics  la  devinons ;"  this  was  the 
case  between  my  Spaniards  and  myself,  and  we  dcvine-d 
one  another  so  much  to  our  mutual  satisfaction,  that  while 
this  was  the  converse  the  most  to  my  taste  of  any  I  had 
had  at  Dunkirk,  it  was  also,  probably,  most  to  theirs  of 
any  that  had  fallen  to  their  lot  since  they  had  been  torn 
from  tlieir  native  country. 

While  this  was  going  on  I  was  privately  drawing  from 
my  purse  all  that  it  contained  of  small  money  to  distribute 


1812.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  449 

to  my  new  friends  ;  but  at  this  same  moment  a  sudden 
change  in  the  countenance  of  the  chief  from  looks  of  grate- 
ful feeling  to  an  expression  of  austerity,  checked  my  pur- 
pose, and,  sorry  and  alarmed  lest  he  had  taken  offence,  I 
hastily  drew  my  empty  hand  from  my  reticule.  I  then 
saw  that  the  change  of  expression  was  not  simply  to  aus- 
terity from  pleasure,  but  to  consternation  from  serenity ; 
and  I  perceived  that  it  was  not  to  me  the  altered  visage 
was  directed ;  the  eye  pointed  beyond  me,  and  over  my  head ; 
startled,  I  turned  round,  and  what,  then,  was  my  own  con- 
sternation when  I  beheld  an  officer  of  the  police,  in  full 
gold  trappings,  furiously  darting  forward  from  a  small 
house  at  the  entrance  upon  the  quay,  which  I  afterwards 
learned  was  his  official  dwelling.  When  he  came  within 
two  yards  of  us  he  stood  still,  mute  and  erect ;  but  with  an 
air  of  menace,  his  eyes  scowling  first  upon  the  chief,  then 
upon  me  then  upon  the  whole  group,  and  then  upon  me 
again,  with  looks  that  seemed  diving  into  some  conspiracy. 
My  alarm  was  extreme ;  my  imprudence  in  conversing  with 
these  unhappy  captives  struck  me  at  once  with  foreboding 
terror  of  ill  consequences.  1  had,  however,  sufficient  pres- 
ence of  mind  to  meet  the  eyes  of  my  antagonist  with  a 
look  that  showed  surprise  rather  than  apprehension  at  his 
wrath. 

This  was  not  without  some  effect.  Accustomed,  prob- 
ably, to  scrutinize  and  to  penetrate  into  secret  plots,  he 
might  be  an  adept  in  distinguishing  the  fear  of  ill-treat- 
ment from  the  fear  of  detection.  The  latter  I  certainly 
could  not  manifest,  as  my  compassion  had  shown  no  out- 
ward mark  beyond  a  little  charity  ;  but  the  former  I  tried, 
vainly,  perhaps,  to  subdue ;  for  I  well  knew  that  pity  to- 
wards a  Spaniard  would  be  deemed  suspicious,  at  least,  if 
not  culpable. 

We  were  all  silent,  and  all  motionless ;  but  when  the 
VOL.  II.  29 


450  DIAKY    AND    LCTTERS  [1812. 

man,  having  fixed  upon  nie  his  eyes  with  intention  to  petri- 
fy me,  saw  that  I  fixed  him  in  return  with  an  open  though 
probably  not  very  composed  face,  he  spoke,  and  with  a 
voice  of  thunder,  vociferating  reproach,  accusation,  and 
condemnation  all  in  one.  His  words  1  could  not  distin- 
guish ;  they  were  so  confused  and  rapid  from  rage.  This 
violence,  though  it  secretly  affrighted  me,  I  tried  to  meet 
with  simple  astonishment,  making  no  sort  of  answer  or 
interruption  to  his  invectives.  When  he  observed  my 
steadiness,  and  that  he  excited  none  of  the  humiliation  of 
discovered  guilt,  he  stopped  short,  and,  after  a  pause, 
gruffly  said,  —  "Qui  etes-vous?" 

"  Je  me  nomme  d'Arblay." 

"  Etes-vous  mariee  ? " 

"  Oui." 

"  Ou  est  votre  mari  ? " 

"  A  Paris." 

"  Qui  est-il  ?  " 

"  II  travaille  aux  Bureaux  de  I'lnterieur." 

"  Pourquoi  le  quittez-vous  ?  "  I  was  here  sensibly  em- 
barrassed. I  durst  not  avow  I  was  going  to  England  ;  I 
could  not  assert  I  was  really  going  to  America.  I  hesi- 
tated ;  and  the  sight  of  his  eyes  brightening  up  with  the 
hope  of  mischief  abated  my  firmness ;  and,  M'hile  he 
seemed  to  be  staring  me  through,  I  gave  an  account,  very 
imperfect  indeed,  and  far  from  clear,  though  true,  tliat  I 
came  to  Dunkirk  to  embark  on  board  the  "  Mary  Ann  " 
vessel.  "  Ah  ha  ! "  exclaimed  he,  "  Vous  etes  Anglaise  ? " 
Then,  tossing  back  his  head  with  an  air  of  triumphant  vic- 
tory, "  Suivez-moi !  "  he  added,  and  walked  away,  fast  and 
fierce,  but  looking  back  every  minute  to  see  that  I  fol- 
lowed. 

Never  can  I  forget  the  terror  with  which  I  was  seized  at 
this  command ;  it  could  only  be  equalled  by  the  evident 


1812.]  OF    MADAME    D'AEBLAY.  451 

consternation  and  sorrow  that  struck  me,  as  I  turned  my 
head  around  to  see  where  I  was,  in  my  pooi-  chief  and  his 
group.  Follow  I  did,  though  not  less  per  force  than  if  I 
had  been  dragged  by  chains.  When  I  saw  him  arrive  at 
the  gate  of  the  little  dwelling  I  have  mentioned,  which  I  now 
perceived  to  belong  to  him  officially,  I  impulsively,  invol- 
untarily stopped.  To  enter  a  police-office,  to  be  probaWy 
charged  with  planning  some  conspiracy  with  the  enemies 
of  the  state,  my  poor  Alexander  away,  and  not  knowinji 
what  must  have  become  of  me ;  my  breath  was  gone  ;  my 
power  of  movement  ceased ;  my  head,  or  understanding, 
seemed  a  chaos,  bereft  of  every  distinct  or  discriminating 
idea ;  and  my  feet,  as  if  those  of  a  statue,  felt  riveted  to 
the  ground,  from  a  vague  but  overwhelming  belief  I  was 
destined  to  incarceration  in  some  dungeon,  where  I  might 
sink  ere  I  could  make  known  my  situation  to  my  friends, 
while  Alex.,  thus  unaccountably  abandoned,  might  be 
driven  to  despair,  or  become  the  prey  to  nameless  mis- 
chiefs. 

Again  the  tiger  vociferated  a  "  Suivez-moi ! "  but  finding 
it  no  longer  obeyed,  he  turned  full  round  as  he  stood  upon 
his  threshold,  and  perceiving  my  motionless  and  speech- 
less dismay,  looked  at  me  for  two  or  three  seconds  in  scorn- 
ful, but  investigating  taciturnity.  Then,  putting  his  anus 
a-kimbo,  he  said,  in  lower  but  more  taunting  accents, 
"  Vous  ne  le  jugez  done  pas  a  propos  de  me  suivre  V  This 
was  followed  by  a  sneering,  sardonic  grin  that  seemed  an- 
ticipating the  enjoyment  of  using  compulsion.  On,  there- 
fore, I  again  forced  myself,  and  with  tolerable  composure  I 
said,  "  Je  n'ai  rien,  Monsieur,  je  crois,  a  faire  ici  ? " 

"  Nous  verrons  !  "  he  answered  bluffly,  and  led  the  way 
into  a  small  hovel  rather  than  parlor ;  and  then  haughtily 
seated  himself  at  a  table,  on  which  were  pen,  ink,  and  pa- 
per ;  and,  while  I  stood  before  him,  began  an  interrogation. 


452  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

with  the  decided  asperity  of  examining  a  detected  criminal, 
of  whom  he  was  to  draw  up  the  j^rocls  verbal. 

When  I  perceived  this,  my  every  fear,  feeling,  nay 
thought,  concentrated  in  Alexander,  to  whom  I  had  deter- 
mined not  to  allude,  while  I  had  any  hope  of  self-escape, 
to  avoid  for  us  both  the  greatest  of  all  perils,  that  of  an 
accusation  of  intending  to  evade  the  ensuing  conscription, 
for  which,  though  Alex,  was  yet  too  young,  he  was  fast  ad- 
vancing to  be  amenable. 

But  now  that  I  was  enclosed  from  his  sight,  and  there 
was  danger  every  moment  of  his  suddenly  missing  me,  I 
felt  that  our  only  chance  of  safety  must  lie  in  my  naming 
him  before  he  should  return.  With  all  the  composure, 
therefore,  that  I  could  assume,  I  said  that  I  was  come  to 
Dunkirk  with  my  son  to  embark  in  the  "  Mary  Ann,"  an 
American  vessel,  with  a  passport  from  M.  de  Saulnier, 
secretary  to  the  Duke  de  Eovigo,  Minister  of  the  Police. 
And  what  had  I  done  with  this  son  ?  I  had  sent  him  to 
the  post-office  with  a  letter  for  his  father.  At  that  instant, 
I  perceived  Alexander  wildly  running  past  the  window. 
This  moment  was  critical.  I  instantly  cried,  "  Sir,  there  is 
my  son ! "  The  man  rose,  and  went  to  the  door,  calling 
out,  "  Jeune  homme  !  "  Alex,  approached,  and  was  ques- 
tioned, and  though  much  amazed,  gave  answers  perfectly 
agreeing  with  mine.  I  now  recovered  my  poor  affrighted 
faculties,  and  calmly  said  that  if  he  had  any  doubt  of  our  ve- 
racity, I  begged  he  would  send  for  Mr.  Gregory,  who  knew 
us  well.  This,  a  second  time,  was  a  most  happy  reference. 
Mr.  Gregory  was  of  the  highest  respectability,  and  he  was 
near  at  hand.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  authenticity 
of  such  an  appeal.  The  brow  of  my  ferocious  assailant 
was  presently  unbent.  I  seized  the  favorable  omen  to 
assure  him,  with  apparent  indifference,  that  I  had  no  objec- 
tion to  being  accompanied  or  preceded  to  I'Hotel  Sauvage, 


1812.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY,  453 

where  I  resided,  nor  to  giving  him  the  key  of  my  portman- 
teau and  portfolio,  if  it  were  possible  I  had  excited  any 
suspicion  by  merely  speaking,  from  curiosity,  to  the  Span- 
ish prisoners.  No,  he  answered,  he  would  not  disturb  me ; 
and  then,  having  entered  the  name  of  Alexander  by  the 
side  of  mine,  he  let  us  depart.  Speechless  was  my  joy, 
and  speechless  was  the  surprise  of  Alexander,  and  we 
walked  home  in  utter  silence. 

Happily,  this  incident  occurred  but  just  before  we  set 
sail,  for  with  it  terminated  my  greatest  solace  at  Dunkirk, 
the  seeing  and  consoling  those  unhappy  prisoners,  and  the 
regale  of  wandering  by  the  sea-coast. 

Six  weeks  completely  we  consumed  in  wasteful  weari- 
ness at  Dunkirk  ;  and  our  passage,  when  at  last  we  set 
sail,  was  equally,  in  its  proportion,  toilsome  and  tedious. 
Involved  in  a  sickening  calm,  we  could  make  no  way,  but 
lingered  two  days  and  two  nights  in  this  long-short  pas- 
sage. The  second  night,  indeed,  might  have  been  spared 
me,  as  it  was  spared  to  all  my  fellow  voyagers.  But  when 
we  cast  anchor,  I  was  so  exhausted  by  the  unremitting 
sufferings  I  had  endured,  that  I  was  literally  unable  to  rise 
from  my  hammock. 

Yet  was  there  a  circumstance  capable  to  have  aroused 
me  from  any  torpidity,  save  the  demolishing  ravage  of  sea- 
sickness ;  for  scarcely  were  we  at  anchor,  when  Alex.,  ca- 
pering up  to  the  deck,  descended  with  yet  more  velocity 
than  he  had  mounted,  to  exclaim,  "  Oh,  maman,  there  are 
two  British  officers  now  upon  deck  ! " 

But,  finding  that  even  this  could  not  make  me  recover 
speech  or  motion,  he  ran  back  again  to  this  new  and  de- 
lighting sight,  and  again  returning,  cried  out  in  a  tone  of 
rapture,  "  Maman,  we  are  taken  by  the  British  !  We  are 
all  captured  by  British  officers  I " 

Even  in  my  immovable,  and  nearly  insensible  state,  this 


454  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1812. 

juvenile  ardor,  excited  by  so  new  and  strange  an  adventure, 
afforded  me  some  amusement.  Itdid  not,  however,  afford 
me  strength,  for  I  could  not  rise,  though  I  heard  that  every 
other  passenger  was  removed.  With  difficulty,  even  next 
morning,  I  crawled  upon  the  deck,  and  there  I  had  been  but 
a  short  time,  when  Lieutenant  Harford  came  on  board  to 
take  possession  of  the  vessel,  not  as  French,  but  American 
booty,  war  having  been  declared  against  America  the  pre- 
ceding week. 

Mr.  Harford,  hearing  my  name,  most  courteously  ad- 
dressed me,  with  congratulations  upon  ray  safe  arrival  in 
England.  These  were  words  to  rewaken  all  the  happiest 
purposes  of  my  expedition,  and  they  recovered  me  from 
the  nerveless,  sinking  state  into  which  my  exhaustion  had 
cast  me,  as  if  by  a  miracle.  My  father,  my  brothers,  my 
sisters,  and  all  my  heart-dear  friends,  seemed  rising  to  my 
view  and  springing  to  my  embraces,  with  all  the  joy  of 
renovating  reunion.  I  thankfully  accepted  his  obliging 
offer  to  carry  me  on  shore  in  his  own  boat ;  but  when  I 
turned  round,  and  called  upon  Alexander  to  follow  us,  Mr. 
Harford,  assuming  a  commanding  air,  said,  "  No,  madam,  I 
cannot  take  that  young  man.  No  French  person  can  come 
into  my  boat  without  a  passport  and  permission  from 
Government." 

My  air  now  a  little  corresponded  with  his  own,  as  I 
answered,  "  He  was  born,  sir,  in  England  ! " 

"Oh!"  cried  he,  "that's  quite  another  matter;  come 
along  sir !  we  '11  all  go  together."  I  now  found  we  were 
rowing  to  Deal,  not  Dover,  to  which  town  we  had  been 
destined  by  our  engagement :  but  we  had  been  captured, 
it  seems,  chemin  faisant,  though  so  gently,  and  with  such 
utter  helplessness  of  opposition,  that  I  had  become  a  pris- 
oner without  any  suspicion  of  my  captivity. 

AVe  had  anchored  about  lualf  a  mile,  I  imagine,  from  the 


1812.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  455 

shore ;  which  I  no  sooner  touched  than,  drawing  away  my 
arm  from  Mr.  Harford,  I  took  up  on  one  knee,  with  irre- 
pressible transport,  the  nearest  bright  pebble,  to  press  to 
my  lips  in  grateful  joy  at  touching  again  the  land  of  my 
nativity,  after  an  absence,  nearly  hopeless,  of  more  than 
twelve  years. 

Of  the  happiness  that  ensued  —  my  being  again  in  the 
arms  of  my  dearly  loved  father  —  in  those  of  my  dear 
surviving  sisters  —  my  brothers  —  my  friends,  some  faint 
details  yet  remain  in  a  few  letters  to  my  heart's  confidant 
that  he  preserved :  but  they  are  truly  faint,  for  my  satisfac- 
tion was  always  damped  in  recording  it  to  him  who  so 
fondly  wished  to  partake  of  it,  and  whose  absence  from 
that  participation  always  rendered  it  incomplete. 

And  on  one  great  source  of  renovated  felicity  I  did  not 
dare  touch,  even  by  inference,  even  by  allusion  —  that  of 
finding  my  gracious  Royal  mistress  and  her  august  daugh- 
ters as  cordial  in  their  welcome,  as  trustijigly  confidential, 
and  as  amiably  condescending,  I  had  almost  said  affection- 
ate, as  if  I  had  never  departed  from  the  royal  roof  under 
which,  for  five  years,  I  had  enjoyed  their  favor.  To  have 
spoken  of  the  Royal  Family  in  letters  sent  to  France  under 
the  reign  of  Bonaparte,  might  have  brought  destruction  on 
him  for  whom  I  would  a  thousand  times  sooner  have 
suffered  it  myself 


Madame  d^Arblay  to  Mrs.  Broome. 

Aug.  15,  1812. 
In  a  flutter  of  joy  such  as  ray  tender  Charlotte  will  feel 
in  reading  this,  I  write  to  her  from  England  !  I  can  hardly 
believe  it ;  I  look  around  me  in  constant  inquiry  and  doubt ; 
I  speak  French  to  every  soul,  and  I  whisper  still  if  I  utter 
a  word  that  breathes  private  opinion. 


456  DIARY    AXD    LETTERS  [1812. 

We  set  off  for  Canterbury,  where  we  slept,  and  on  the 
20th  proceeded  towards  Chelsea.  While,  upon  some  com- 
mon, we  stopped  to  water  the  horses,  a  gentleman  on 
horseback  passed  us  twice,  and  then,  looking  in,  pronounced 
ray  name  ;  and  I  saw  it  was  Charles,  dear  Charles  !  who 
had  been  watching  for  us  several  hours  and  three  nights 
following,  through  a  mistake.  Thence  we  proceeded  to 
Chelsea,  where  we  arrived  at  nine  o'clock  at  night.  I  was 
in  a  state  almost  breathless.  I  could  only  demand  to  see 
my  dear  father  alone :  fortunately,  he  had  had  the  same 
feeling,  and  had  charged  all  the  family  to  stay  away,  and 
all  the  world  to  be  denied.  I  found  him,  therefore,  in  his 
library,  by  himself  —  but  oh!  my  dearest,  veiy  much  al- 
tered indeed  —  weak,  weak  and  changed  —  his  head  almost 
always  hanging  down,  and  his  hearing  most  cruelly  impaired. 

I  was  terribly  affected,  but  most  grateful  to  God  for  my 
arrival.  Our  meeting,  you  may  be  sure,  was  very  tender, 
though  I  roused  myself  as  quickly  as  possible  to  be  gay 
and  cheering.  He  was  extremely  kind  to  Alex.,  and  said, 
in  a  tone  the  most  impressive,  "  I  should  have  been  very 
glad  to  have  seen  M.  d'Arblay ! "  In  discourse,  however, 
he  re-animated,  and  was,  at  times,  all  himself.  But  he  now 
admits  scarcely  a  creature  but  of  his  family,  and  will  only 
see  for  a  short  time  even  his  children.  He  likes  quietly 
reading,  and  lies  almost  constantly  upon  the  sofa,  and  will 
never  eat  but  alone  !     What  a  change  ! 


1813.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  457 


CHAPTER    IX. 

1813  —  1815. 

Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Dr.  Barnerj. 

Chenies  Street,  London,  Fetruary  8,  1813. 

Your  kind  invitation,  my  dearest  Padre,  I  should  instantly 
have  answered,  and  not  with  my  pen,  had  all  been  as  favor- 
able as  my  inclination  and  the  weather ;  but  this  last  week 
has  been  wholly  dedicated  to  the  Queen  and  the  Princesses; 
a  letter  came  to  me  from  Windsor  to  prepare  me  for  their 
arrival,  and,  consequently,  to  keep  me  always  in  readiness 
for  the  honor  of  a  summons ;  and,  out  of  their  five  days' 
residence  in  town,  they  have  had  the  gracious  indulgence 
to  admit  me  three,  and,  upon  those  occasions,  I  never 
quitted  the  palace  till  they  went  to  one  of  the  Princes* 
to  dinner,  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock.  Nor  then, 
neither,  in  fact,  for  I  still  stayed  to  dine  myself  with 
my  successor. 

But  why,  my  dearest  father  may  say,  not  hasten  to 
Chelsea  now  ?  The  fact  is,  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit 
various  precautionary  measures  during  the  whole  of  this 
week,  and  I  now  feel  an  absolute  necessity  to  nurse  again 
and  refit.  To-day  I  have  entirely  kept  quiet  and  silent 
upstairs  in  my  room,  and  as,  tliese  other  days,  I  have  kept 
wholly  the  reverse,  my  lungs,  strength,  and  spirits,  all  de- 
mand tlie  recruit.  I  fear  that  for  some  days  I  must  go  on 
doctoring  myself  after  these  late  excesses  ;  but  bad  weather 
alone,  after  Wednesday,  shall  withhold  me  from  embracing 
my  dearest  father. 


458  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1813. 

Madame  d'Arbtay  to  Br.  Btirner/. 

March  16,  1813. 

How  will  my  kindest  father  rejoice  for  me  !  for  my  dear 
partner  —  for  my  boy  !  The  election  is  gained,  and  Alex- 
ander has  obtained  the  Tancred  scholarship.     He  had  all 

tlie  votes :    the   opponent   retired.      Sir   D behaved 

handsomely,  came  forward,  and  speechified  for  us.  Sir 
Francis  Milman,  who  was  chairman,  led  the  way  in  the 
harangue. 


Madanie  d'Arblai/  to  Dr.  Burney. 

May  11,  1813. 

My  own  inclination  and  intention  kept  in  mind  your 
charge,  my  dearest  Sir,  that  as  soon  as  I  was  able  I  would. 
wait  upon  Lady  Crewe ;  fortunately,  I  found  her  at  home, 
and  in  her  best  style,  cordial  as  well  as  good-humored,  and 
abounding  in  acute  and  odd  remarks.  I  had  also  the  good 
fortune  to  see  my  lord,  who  seems  always  pleasing,  unaf- 
fected, and  sensible,  and  to  possess  a  share  of  innate 
modesty  that  no  intercourse  with  the  world,  nor  addition 
of  years,  can  rob  him  of  I  was  much  satisfied  with 
my  visit ;  but  what  I  shall  do  for  time,  now  once  I  have 
been  launched  from  my  council,  or  sick  chamber,  I  wot 
not. 

What  a  terrible  alarm  is  this  which  the  poor  tormented 
Queen  has  again  received  !  ^  I  wrote  my  concern  as  soon 
as  I  heard  of  it,  though  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  printed 
account,  my  packet  of  papers  reaching  only  to  the  very  day 
before  that  event.  My  answer  has  been  a  most  gracious 
summons  to  the  Queen's  house  for  to-morrow.  Her  Ma- 
jesty and  two  of  the  Princesses  come  to  town  for  four  days. 
This  robs  me  of  my  Chelsea  visit  for  this  week,  as  I  keep 

■^  An  attempt  to  enter  her  apartment  by  a  crazy  woman. 


1813.]  OF   MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  459 

always  within  call  during  the  town  residences,  when  I 
have  royal  notice  of  them ;  and,  indeed,  there  is  nothing 
I  desire  more  than  to  see  her  Majesty  at  this  moment,  and 
to  be  allowed  to  express  what  I  have  felt  for  her.  My 
letter  from  Madame  Beckersdorff  says  that  such  an  alarm 
would  have  been  frightful  for  anybody,  but  how  much  more 
peculiarly  so  for  the  Queen,  who  has  experienced  such 
poignant  horror  from  the  effects  of  disordered  intellects ! 
who  is  always  suffering  from  them,  and  so  nearly  a  victim 
to  the  unremitting  exercise  of  her  duties  upon  that  subject 
and  these  calls. 

I  have  had  a  visit  this  morning  from  Mrs.  Piozzi,  who  is 
in  town  only  for  a  few  days  upon  business.  She  came 
while  I  w^as  out ;  but  I  must  undoubtedly  make  a  second 
tour,  after  my  royal  four  days  are  passed,  in  order  to  wait 
upon  and  thank  her. 

I  have  been  received  more  graciously  than  ever,  if  that 
be  possible,  by  my  dear  and  honored  Queen  and  sw^eet 
Princesses  Eliza  and  Mary.  The  Queen  has  borne  this 
alarm  astonishingly,  considering  how  great  was  the  shock 
at  the  moment ;  but  she  has  so  high  a  character,  that  she 
will  not  suffer  anything  personal  to  sink  her  spirits,  which 
she  saves  wholly  for  the  calls  upon  them  of  others,  and 
great  and  terrible  have  been  those  calls.  The  beloved 
King  is  in  the  led  state  possible  for  his  present  melancholy 
situation  ;  that  is,  wholly  free  from  real  bodily  suffering,  or 
imaginary  mental  misery,  for  he  is  persuaded  that  he  is 
always  conversing  with  angels. 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Dr.  Burney. 

Richmond  Hill,  Oct.  12,  1813. 
My  most  dear  Padre  will,  I  am  sure,  congratulate  me 
that  I  have  just  had  the  heartfelt  delight  of  a  few  lines 


460  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

from  M.  d'Arblay,  dated  September  oth.  I  had  not  had 
any  news  since  the  17th  of  Angust,  and  I  had  the  melan- 
choly apprehension  upon  my  spirits  that  no  more  letters 
would  be  allowed  to  pass  till  the  campaign  was  over.  It 
has  been  therefore  one  of  the  most  welcome  surprises  I 
ever  experienced. 

I  have  had,  also,  this  morning,  the  great  comfort  to  hear 
that  my  Alexander  is  "stout  and  well"  at  Cambridge, 
where  his  kind  uncle  Charles  still  remains. 

I  am  indescribably  occupied,  and  have  been  so  ever  since 
my  return  from  Eamsgate,  in  giving  more  and  more  last 
touches  to  my  work,^  about  which  I  begin  to  grow  very 
anxious.  I  am  to  receive  merely  £500  upon  dehvery  of 
the  MS. ;  the  two  following  £500  by  instalments  from  nine 
months  to  nine  months,  that  is,  in  a  year  and  a  half  from 
the  day  of  jpiiblication. 

If  all  goes  well,  the  whole  will  be  £3000,  but  only  at 
the  end  of  the  sale  of  eight  thousand  copies.  Oh,  my 
Padre,  if  you  approve  the  work,  I  shall  have  good  hope. 

F.  B.  D'A. 
1814 

[In  the  beginning  of  this  year  Madame  d'Arblay  pub- 
lished her  fourth  novel.  The  Wanderer,  and  nearly  at  the 
same  time  Peace  was  declared  between  France  and  Eng- 
land. Her  satisfaction  at  an  event  so  long  wished  for,  was 
deeply  saddened  by  the  death  of  her  father.  Dr.  Burney ; 
whom  she  nursed  and  attended  to  the  last  moment  with 
dutiful  tenderness. 

Soon  after  the  restoration  of  the  French  Eoyal  Family, 
Monsieur  d'Arblay  was  placed  by  the  Duke  de  Luxem- 
bourg in  the  French  "  Garde  du  Corps."  He  obtained  leave 
of  absence  towards  the  close  of  the  year,  and  came  to  Eng- 

i  "  The  Wanderer  "  —  published  the  following  year. 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  461 

land  for  a  few  weeks ;  after  which  Madame  d'Arblay  re- 
turned with  him  to  Paris,  leaving  their  son  to  pursue  his 
studies  at  Cambridge.] 


Madame  d'Arblai/  to  Mrs. , 

March  19,  1814. 

Be  not  uneasy  for  me,  my  tender  friend  :  my  affliction  is 
heavy,  but  not  acute  ;  my  beloved  father  had  been  spared 
to  us  something  beyond  the  verge  of  the  prayer  for  his 
preservation,  which  you  must  have  read,  for  already  his 
sufferings  had  far  surpassed  his  enjoyments.  I  could  not 
have  wished  him  so  to  linger,  though  I  indulged  almost  to 
the  last  hour  a  hope  he  might  yet  recover,  and  be  restored 
to  comfort.  I  last  of  all  gave  him  up,  but  never  wished 
his  duration  such  as  I  saw  him  on  the  last  few  days.  Dear 
blessed  parent !  how  blest  am  I  that  I  came  over  to  him 
while  he  was  yet  susceptible  of  pleasure  —  of  happiness  ! 
My  best  comfort  in  my  grief,  in  his  loss,  is  that  I  watched 
by  his  side  the  last  night,  and  hovered  over  him  two  hours 
after  he  breathed  no  more  ;  for  though  much  suffering  had 
preceded  the  last  hours,  they  were  so  quiet,  and  the  final 
exit  was  so  soft,  that  I  had  not  perceived  it  though  I  was 
sitting  by  his  bedside,  and  would  not  believe  when  all 
around  announced  it.  I  forced  them  to  let  me  stay  by 
him,  and  his  revered  form  became  stiff  before  I  could  per- 
suade myself  that  he  was  gone  hence  for  ever. 

Yet  neither  then  nor  now  has  there  been  any  violence, 
anything  to  fear  from  my  grief ;  his  loss  was  too  indubita- 
bly to  be  expected ;  he  had  been  granted  too  long  to  our 
indulgence  to  allow  any  species  of  repining  to  mingle  with 
my  sorrow  ;  and  it  is  repining  that  makes  sorrow  too  hard 
to  bear  with  resignation.     Oh,  I  have  known  it ! 

r.  D'A. 


462  DIARY  AND  LETTEKS  [1814. 


.    Presentation  to  Louis  XVIII. 

1814. 
While  I  was  still  under  the  almost  first  impression  of 
grief  for  the  loss  of  my  dear  and  honored  father,  I  received 
a  letter  from  Windsor  Castle,  written  by  Madame  Beckers- 
dorff,  at  the  command  of  Her  Majesty,  to  desire  I  would 
take  the  necessary  measures  for  being  presented  to  ^Son 
Altesse  Eoyale  Madame  Duchesse  d'Angouleme,  who  was 
to  have  a  drawing-room  in  London,  both  for  French  and 
■  English,  on  the  day  preceding  her  departure  for  France. 
The  letter  added,  that  I  must  waive  all  objections  relative 
to  my  recent  loss,  as  it  would  be  improper,  in  the  present 
state  of  things,  that  the  wife  of  a  General  Officer  should 
not  be  presented ;  and,  moreover,  that  I  should  be  person- 
ally expected  and  well  received,  as  I  had  been  named  to 
Son  Altesse  Eoyale  by  the  Queen  herself.  In  conclusion, 
I  was  charged  not  to  mention  this  circumstance,  from  the 
applications  or  jealousies  it  might  excite. 

To  hesitate  was  out  of  the  question ;  and  to  do  honor  to 
my  noble  absent  partner,  and  in  his  name  to  receive  honor, 
were  precisely  the  two  distinctions  my  kind  father  would 
most  have  enjoyed  for  me. 

I  had  but  two  or  three  days  for  preparation.  Lady 
Crewe  most  amiably  came  to  me  herself,  and  missing  me 
in  person,  wrote  me  word  she  would  lend  me  her  carriage 
to  convey  me  from  Chelsea  to  her  house  in  Lower  Gros- 
venor  Street,  and  thence  accompany  me  herself  to  the 
audience.  When  the  morning  arrived  I  set  off  with  toler- 
able courage. 

Arrived,  however,  at  Lady  Crewe's,  when  I  entered  the 
room  in  which  this  dear  and  attached  friend  of  my  father 
received  me,  the  heaviness  of  liis  loss  proved  quite  over- 
powering to  my  spirits  ;  and  in  meeting  the  two  hands  of 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  463 

my  hostess,  I  burst  into  tears,  and  could  not,  for  some  time, 
listen  to  the  remonstrances  ag;ainst  unavailinor  orrief  with 
which  she  rather  chid  than  soothed  me.  But  I  could  not 
contest  the  justice  of  what  she  uttered,  though  my  grief 
was  too  fresh  for  its  observance.  Sorrow,  as  my  dearest 
father  was  wont  to  say,  requires  time,  as  well  as  \nsdom 
and  religion,  to  digest  itself;  and  till  that  time  is  both 
accorded  and  well  employed,  the  sense  of  its  uselessness 
serves  but  to  augment,  not  mitigate,  its  severity. 

Lady  Crewe  purposed  taking  this  opportunity  of  paying 
her  own  respects,  with  her  congratulations,  to  Madame  la 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  She  had  sent  me  a  note  from 
Madame  de  Gouvello,  relative  to  the  time,  &c.  for  presenta- 
tion, which  was  to  take  place  at  Grillon's  hotel,  in  Albe- 
marle Street. 

We  went  very  early,  to  avoid  a  crowd.  But  Albemarle 
Street  was  already  quite  full,  though  quiet.  We  entered 
the  hotel  without  difficulty.  Lady  Crewe  having  previously 
demanded  a  private  room  of  Grillon,  who  had  once  been 
cook  to  her  lord.  This  private  room  was  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  with  a  mere  yard  or  common  garden  for  its  prospect. 
Lady  Crewe  declared  this  was  quite  too  stupid,  and  rang 
the  bell  for  waiter  after  waiter,  till  she  made  M.  Grillon 
come  himself.  She  then,  in  her  singularly  open  and  easy 
manner,  told  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  order  us  a  front 
room,  where  we  might  watch  for  the  arrival  of  the  Roy- 
als, and  be  amused  ourselves  at  the  same  time  by  seeing 
the  entrances  of  the  Mayor,  Aldermen,  and  Common 
Councilmen,  and  other  odd  characters,  who  would  be 
coming  to  pay  their  court  to  these  French  princes  and 
princesses. 

M.  Grillon  gave  a  nod  of  acquiescence,  and  we  were  in- 
stantly shown  to  a  front  apartment  just  over  the  street 
door,  which  was  fortunately  supplied  with  a  balcony. 


464  DIAKY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

I  should  have  been  much  entertained  by  all  this,  and 
particularly  with  the  originality,  good  humor,  and  intrepid 
yet  intelligent  odd  fearlessness  of  all  remark,  or  even  con- 
sequence, which  led  Lady  Crewe  to  both  say  and  do  exactly 
what  she  pleased,  had  my  heart  been  lighter ;  but  it  was 
too  heavy  for  pleasure  ;  and  the  depth  of  my  mourning, 
and  the  little,  but  sad  time  that  was  yet  passed  since  it 
had  become  my  gloomy  garb,  made  me  hold  it  a  matter  even 
of  decency,  as  well  as  of  feeling,  to  keep  out  of  sight.  I  left 
Lady  Crewe,  therefore,  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  her  odd 
figures,  while  I  seated  myself,  solitarily,  at  the  further  end 
of  the  room. 

In  an  instant,  however,  she  saw  from  the  window  some 
acquaintance,  and  beckoned  them  up.  A  gentleman,  mid- 
dle-aged, of  a  most  pleasing  appearance  and  address,  im- 
mediately obeyed  her  summons,  accompanied  by  a  young 
man  with  a  sensible  look  ;  and  a  young  lady,  pretty,  gentle, 
and  engaging,  with  languishing  soft  eyes ;  though  with  a 
smile  and  an  expression  of  countenance  that  showed  an 
innate  disposition  to  archness  and  sport. 

This  uncommon  trio  I  soon  found  to  consist  of  the 
celebrated  Irish  orator,  Mr.  Grattan,  and  his  son  and 
daughter. 

Lady  Crewe  welcomed  them  with  all  the  alertness  be- 
longing to  her  thirst  for  amusement,  and  her  delight  in 
sharing  it  with  those  she  thought  capable  of  its  participa- 
tion. This  she  had  sought,  but  wholly  missed  in  me  ;  and 
could  neither  be  angry  nor  disappointed,  though  she  was  a 
little  vexed.  She  suffered  me  not,  however,  to  remain  long 
in  my  seclusion,  but  called  me  to  the  balcony,  to  witness 
the  jolting  out  of  their  carriages  of  the  aldermen  and  com- 
mon councilmen,  exhibiting,  as  she  said,  their  "  fair  round 
bodies  with  fat  capon  lined  ; "  and  wearing  an  air  of 
proudly  hospitable  satisfaction,  in  visiting  a  King  of  France 


1814.]  OF   JVIADAME   D'ARBLAY.  465 

who  had  found  an  asylum  in  a  street  of  the  city  of  West- 
minster. 

The  crowd,  however,  for  they  deserve  a  better  name 
than  mob,  interested  my  observation  still  more.  John  BuU 
has  seldom  appeared  to  me  to  greater  advantage.  I  never 
saw  him  en  masse  behave  with  such  impulsive  propriety. 
Enchanted  to  behold  a  Iving  of  France  in  his  capital ;  con- 
scious that  Ic  grand  Monarquc  was  fully  in  his  power ;  yet 
honestly  enraptured  to  see  that  "  The  king  would  enjoy 
his  own  again,"  and  enjoy  it  through  the  generous  efforts. 
of  his  rival,  brave,  noble  old  England ;  he  yet  seemed 
aware  that  it  was  fitting  to  subdue  all  exuberance  of  pleas- 
\ne,  which,  else,  might  annoy,  if  not  alarm,  his  regal  guest. 
He  took  care,  therefore,  that  his  delight  should  not  amount 
to  exultation  ;  it  was  quiet  and  placid,  though  pleased  and 
curious  :  I  had  almost  said  it  was  gentlemanlike. 

And  nearly  of  the  same  color,  though  from  so  inferior 
an  excitement,  were  the  looks  and  attention  of  the  Grattans, 
particularly  of  the  father,  to  the  black  mourner  whom 
Lady  Crewe  called  amongst  them.  My  garb,  or  the  news 
papers,  or  both,  explained  the  dejection  I  attempted  not  to 
repress,  though  I  carefully  forbade  it  any  vent ;  and  the 
finely  speaking  face  of  Mr.  Grattan  seemed  investigating 
the  physiognomy,  while  it  commiserated  the  situation  of 
the  person  brought  thus  before  him.  His  air  had  some- 
thing foreign  in  it,  from  the  vivacity  that  accompanied  his 
politeness ;  I  should  have  taken  him  for  a  well-bred  man 
of  fashion  of  France.  Good  breeding,  in  England,  amongst 
the  men,  is  ordinarily  stiff,  reserved,  or  cold.  Among  the 
exceptions  to  this  stricture,  how  high  stood  IVIr.  Wyndham  ! 
and  how  high  in  gaiety  M'ith  vivacity  stood  my  own  hon- 
ored father !  Mr.  Locke,  who  was  elegance  personified  in 
his  manners,  was  lively  only  in  his  own  domestic  or  chosen 

circle. 

vol,.  II.  30 


466  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

A  new  scene  now  both  astonished  and  discomposed  me. 

A  lady,  accompanied  humbly  by  a  gentleman,  burst  into 
the  room  with  a  noise,  a  self-sufficiency,  and  an  assuming 
confidence  of  superiority,  that  would  have  proved  highly 
offensive,  had  it  not  been  egregiously  ridiculous.  Her  at- 
tire was  as  flaunting  as  her  air  and  her  manner ;  she  was 
rouged  and  beribboned.  But  English  she  was  not ;  she 
was  Irish,  in  its  most  flaunting  and  untamed  nature,  and 
possessed  of  so  boisterous  a  spirit,  that  she  appeared  to  be 
just  caught  from  the  woods  —  the  bogs,  I  might  rather 
say. 

When  she  had  poured  forth  a  volley  of  words,  with  a 
fluency  and  loudness  that  stunned  me.  Lady  Crewe,  with 
a  smile  that  seemed  to  denote  she  intended  to  give  her 
pleasure,  presented  me  by  name  to  Madame  la  Baronne 
de  M . 

She  made  me  a  very  haughty  curtsey,  and  then,  turning 
rudely  away,  looked  reproachfully  at  Lady  Crewe,  and 
screamed  out,  "  Oh,  fie  !  fie  !  fie  !  fie  !  "  Lady  Crewe, 
astonished  and  shocked,  seemed  struck  speechless,  and  I 
stood  still  with  my  eyes  wide  open,  and  my  mouth  proba- 
bly so  also,  from  a  sort  of  stupor,  for  I  could  annex  no 
meaning  nor  even  any  idea  to  such  behavior.  Slie  made 
not,  however,  any  scruple  to  develop  her  motives,  for  she 
vehemently  inveighed  against  being  introduced  to  such  an 
acquaintance,  squalling  out,  "  She  has  writ  against  the 
emigres  !  —  she  has  writ  against  the  Great  Cause  !  0  fie  ! 
fie  !  fie  ! " 

When  she  had  made  these  exclamations,  and  uttered 
these  accusations,  till  the  indulged  vent  to  her  rage  began 
to  cool  it,  she  stopped  of  her  own  accord,  and,  finding  no 
one  spoke,  looked  as  if  she  felt  rather  silly ;   while  M. 

le  Baron  de  M ,  her  very  humble  sposo,  shrugged  his 

shoulders.     The  pause  was  succeeded  by  an  opening  ha- 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  467 

rangue  from  Lady  Crewe,  begun  in  a  low  and  gentle  voice, 
that  seemed  desirous  to  spare  me  what  might  appear  an 
undue  condescension,  in  taking  any  pains  to  clear  me  from 
so  gross  an  attack.  She  gave,  therefore,  nearly  in  a  whis- 
per, a  short  character  of  me  and  of  ray  conduct,  of  which 
I  heard  just  enough  to  know  that  such  was  her  theme ; 
and  then,  more  audibly,  she  proceeded  to  state,  that  far 
from  writing  against  the  emigrants,  I  had  addressed  an  ex- 
hortation to  all  the  ladies  of  Great  Britain  in  their  favor. 

"  Oh,  then,"  cried  Madame  de  M ■,  "  it  was  some- 
body else  —  it  was  somebody  else  !  "  And  then  she 
screamed  out  delightedly,  "  I  'm  so  glad  I  spoke  out,  be- 
cause of  thi.s  explanation  !  —  I  'm  so  glad  !  —  I  never  was 
so  glad !  " 

She  now  jumped  about  the  room,  quite  crazily,  protest- 
ing she  never  rejoiced  so  much  at  anything  she  had  ever 
done  in  her  life. 

But  when  she  found  her  joy,  like  her  assault,  was  all 
her  own,  she  stopped  short,  astonished,  I  suppose,  at  my 
insensibility,  and  said  to  me,  "  How  lucky  I  spoke  out ! 
the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world  !  I  'm  so  glad !  A' n't  you  ? 
Because  of  this  eclaircissemcnt.'' 

"  If  I.  had  required  any  eclair cissement"  I  dryly  began. 

"  Oh,  if  it  was  not  you,  then,"  cried  she,  "  't  was  Char- 
lotte Smith." 

Lady  Crewe  seemed  quite  ashamed  that  such  a  scene 
should  pass  where  she  presided,  and  Mr.  Grattan  quietly 
stole  away. 

Not  quietly,  nor  yet  by  stealth,  but  with  evident  disap- 
pointment that  her  energies  were  not  more  admired, 
Madame  la  Baronne  now  called  upon  her  attendant  sposo, 
and  strode  off  herself.  I  found  she  was  a  great  heiress  of 
Irish  extraction  and  education,  and  that  she  had  bestowed 
all  her  wealth  upon  this  emigrant  Baron,  who  miglit  easily 


468  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

merit  it,  when,  besides  his  title,  he  gave  her  his  patience 
and  obsequiousness. 

Some  other  friends  of  Lady  Crewe  now  found  her  out, 
and  she  made  eager  inquiries  amongst  them  relative  to 
Madame  la  Duchesse  d'Angouleme,  but  could  gather  no 
tidings.  She  heard,  however,  that  there  were  great  ex- 
pectations of  some  arrivals  downstairs,  where  two  or  three 
rooms  were  filled  with  company. 

She  desired  Mr.  Grattan,  junior,  to  descend  into  this 
crowd,  and  to  find  out  where  the  Duchess  was  to  be  seen, 
and  when,  and  how.  He  obeyed.  But,  when  he  returned, 
what  was  the  provocation  of  Lady  Crewe,  what  my  own 
disappointment,  to  hear  that  the  Duchess  was  not  arrived, 
and  was  not  expected  !  She  was  at  the  house  of  Monsieur 
le  Comte  d'Artois,  her  father-in-law. 

"  Then  what  are  we  come  hither  for  ? "  exclaimed  her 
ladyship  :  "  expressly  to  be  tired  to  death  for  no  purpose  ! 
Do  pray,  at  least,  Mr.  Grattan,  be  so  good  as  to  see  for  my 
carriage,  that  we  may  go  to  the  right  house."  Mr.  Grattan 
was  all  compliance,  and  with  a  readiness  so  obliging  and 
so  well-bred  that  I  am  sure  he  is  his  father's  true  son  in 
manners,  though  there  was  no  opportunity  to  discover 
whether  the  resemblance  extended  also  to  genius. 

He  was  not,  however,  cheered  when  he  brought  word 
that  neither  carriage  nor  footman  was  to  be  found. 

Lady  Crewe  then  said  he  must  positively  go  down,  and 
make  the  Due  de  Duras  tell  us  what  to  do.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  was  with  us  again,  shrugging  his  shoulders  at 
his  ill-success.  The  King,  Louis  XYIIL,  he  said,  was  ex- 
pected, and  M.  le  Due  was  preparing  to  receive  him,  and 
not  able  to  speak  or  listen  to  any  one. 

Lady  Crewe  declared  herself  delighted  by  this  informa- 
tion, because  there  would  be  an  opportunity  for  having  me 
presented  to  his  Majesty.    "  Go  to  M.  de  Duras,"  she  cried, 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   d'AEBLAY.  469 

"  and  tell  him  j\raclame  d'Arblay  wishes  it."  "  For  heav- 
en's sake  !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  do  no  such  thing !  I  have  not 
the  most  distant  thought  of  the  kind  !  It  is  Madame  la 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme  alone  that  I  —  " 

"  0,  pho,  pho  !  —  it  is  still  more  essential  to  be  done  to 
the  king  — it  is  really  important :  so  go,  and  tell  the  Duke, 
Mr.  Grattan,  that  JNIadame  d'Arblay  is  here,  aud  desires  to 
be  presented.     Tell  him  't  is  a  thing  quite  indispensable." 

I  stopped  him  again,  and  quite  entreated  that  no  such 
step  might  be  taken,  as  I  had  no  authority  for  presentation 
but  to  the  Duchess.  However,  Lady  Crewe  was  only  pro- 
voked at  my  backwardness,  and  charged  Mr.  Grattan  not 
to  heed  me.  "  Tell  the  Duke,"  she  cried,  "  that  Madame 
d'Arblay  is  our  Madame  de  Stael !  —  tell  him  we  are  as 
proud  of  our  JMadame  d'Arblay  as  he  can  be  of  his 
Madame  de  Stael."  Off  she  sent  him,  and  off  I  flew  again 
to  follow  him  ;  and  whether  he  was  most  amused  or  most 
teased  by  our  opposing  petitions,  I  know  not ;  but  he  took 
the  discreet  side  of  not  venturing  again  to  return  among  us. 

Poor  Lady  Crewe  seemed  to  think  I  lost  a  place  at  Court, 
or  perhaps  a  peerage,  by  my  untameable  shyness,  and  was 
quite  vexed.  Others  came  to  her  now,  who  said  several 
rooms  below  were  filled  with  expectant  courtiers.  Miss 
Grattan  then  earnestly  requested  me  to  descend  with  her, 
as  a  chaperon,  that  she  might  see  something  of  what  was 
coin  EC  forwards. 

I  could  not  refuse  so  natural  a  request,  and  down  we 
went,  seeking  one  of  the  commonly  crowded  rooms,  that  we 
might  not  intrude  where  there  was  preparation  or  expecta- 
tion relative  to  the  King. 

And  here,  sauntering  or  grouping,  meditating  in  silence 
or  congratulating  each  other  in  coteries,  or  waiting  with 
curiosity,  or  self-preparing  for  presentation  with  timidity, 
we  found  a  multitude  of  folks  in  an  almost  unfurnished  and 


470  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

quite  unadorned  apartment.  The  personages  seemed  fairly 
divided  between  the  nation  at  home  and  the  nation  from 
abroad,  the  English  and  the  French  :  each  equally,  though 
variously,  occupied  in  expecting  the  extraordinary  sight  of 
a  monarch  thus  wonderfully  restored  to  his  rank  and  his 
throne,  after  misfortunes  that  had  seemed  irremediable,  and 
an  exile  that  had  appeared  hopeless. 

Miss  Grattan  was  saluted,  e?i  passant,  by  several  acquain- 
tances, and  amongst  them  by  the  son-in-law  of  her  dear 
country's  Viceroy,  Lord  Whitworth,  the  young  Duke  of 
Dorset ;  and  Lady  Crewe  herself,  too  tired  to  abide  any 
longer  in  her  appropriated  apartment,  now  descended. 

We  2^'^i'i'oled  about,  zig-zag,  as  we  could ;  the  crowd, 
though  of  very  good  company,  having  no  chief  or  regulator, 
and  therefore  making  no  sort  of  avenue  or  arrangement  for 
avoiding  inconvenience.  There  was  neither  going  up  nor 
coming  down ;  we  were  all  hustled  together,  without  di- 
rection and  without  object,  for  nothing  whatsoever  was 
present  to  look  at  or  to  create  auy  interest,  and  our  expec- 
tations were  merely  kept  awake  by  a  belief  that  we  should 
know  in  time  when  and  where  something  or  somebody  was 
to  be  seen. 

For  myself,  however,  I  was  much  tormented  during  this 
interval  from  being  named  incessantly  by  Lady  Crewe. 
My  deep  mourning,  my  recent  heavy  loss,  and  the  absence 
and  distance  of  my  dear  husband,  made  me  peculiarly  wish 
to  be  unobserved.  Peculiarly,  I  say ;  for  never  yet  had 
the  moment  arrived  in  which  to  be  marked  had  not  been 
embarrassing  and  disconcerting  to  me,  even  when  most 
flattering. 

A  little  hubbub  soon  after  announced  something  new, 
and  presently  a  whisper  was  buzzed  around  the  room  of 
"  The  Prince  de  Conde." 

His  Serene  Highness  looked  very  much  pleased  —  as  no 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  471 

•wonder  —  at  the  arrival  of  such  a  day  ;  but  he  was  so  sur- 
rounded by  all  his  countrymen  who  were  of  rank  t-o  claim 
his  attention,  that  I  could  merely  see  that  he  was  little  and 
old,  but  very  unassuming  and  polite.  Amongst  his  court- 
iers were  sundry  of  the  French  noblesse  that  were  known 
to  Lady  Crewe  ;  and  I  heard  her  uniformly  say  to  them, 
one  after  another,  "  Here  is  Madame  d'Arljlay,  who  must 
be  presented  to  the  king." 

Quite  frightened  by  an  assertion  so  wide  from  my  inten- 
tions, so  unauthorized  by  any  preparatory  ceremonies,  un- 
known to  my  husband,  and  not,  like  a  presentation  to  the 
Duchess  d'Angouleme,  encouraged  by  my  Queen,  I  felt  as 
if  guilty  of  taking  a  liberty  the  most  presumptuous,  and 
with  a  forwardness  and  assurance  the  most  foreign  to  my 
character.  Yet  to  control  the  zeal  of  Lady  Crewe  was 
painful  from  her  earnestness,  and  appeared  to  be  ungrate- 
ful to  her  kindness ;  I  therefore  shrunk  back,  and  presently 
suffered  the  crowd  to  press  between  us  so  as  to  find  my- 
self wholly  separated  from  my  party.  This  would  have 
been  ridiculous  had  I  been  more  happy ;  but  in  my  then 
state  of  affliction,  it  was  necessary  to  my  peace. 

Quite  to  myself,  how  I  smiled  inwardly  at  my  adroit 
cowardice,  and  was  contemplating  the  surrounding  masses 
of  people,  when  a  new  and  more  mighty  hubbub  startled 
me,  and  presently  I  heard  a  buzzing  whisper  spread 
throughout  the  apartment  of  "  The  King  !  —  Le  Roi  !" 

Alarmed  at  my  strange  situation,  I  now  sought  to  de- 
camp, meaning  to  wait  for  Lady  Crewe  upstairs  :  but  to 
even  approach  the  door  was  impossible.  I  turned  back, 
therefore,  to  take  a  place  by  the  window,  that  I  might  see 
his  Majesty  alight  from  his  carriage,  but  how  great  was  my 
surprise  when,  just  as  I  reached  tlie  top  of  the  room,  the 
King  himself  entered  it  at  the  bottom  ! 

I  had  not  the  smallest  idea  that  this  was  the  chamber  of 


472  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

audience;  it  was  so  utterly  unornamented.  But  I  now 
saw  that  a  large  fauteuil  was  being  conveyed  to  the  upper 
part,  exactly  where  I  stood,  ready  for  his  reception  and 
repose. 

Placed  thus  singularly,  by  mere  accident,  and  freed  from 
my  fears  of  being  brought  forward  by  Lady  Crewe,  I  felt 
rejoiced  in  so  fair  an  opportunity  of  beholding  the  King  of 
my  honored  husband,  and  planted  myself  immediately  be- 
hind, though  not  near  to  his  prepared  seat ;  and,  as  I  was 
utterly  unknown  and  must  be  utterly  unsuspected,  I  in- 
dulged myself  with  a  full  examination.  An  avenue  had 
instantly  been  cleared  from  the  door  to  the  chair,  and  the 
King  moved  along  it  slowly,  slowly,  slowly,  rather  dragging 
his  large  and  weak  limbs  than  walking ;  but  his  face  was 
truly  engaging  ;  benignity  was  in  every  feature,  and  a  smile 
beamed  over  them  that  showed  thankfulness  to  Providence 
in  the  happiness  to  which  he  was  so  suddenly  arrived  ; 
with  a  courtesy,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  spectators,  who 
came  to  see  and  congratulate  it,  the  most  pleasing  and 
cheering. 

The  scene  was  replete  witli  motives  to  grand  reflections ; 
and  to  me,  the  devoted  subject  of  another  monarch,  whose 
melancholy  alienation  of  mind  was  a  constant  source  to  me 
of  sorrow,  it  was  a  scene  for  conflicting  feelings  and  pro- 
found meditation. 

His  Majesty  took  his  seat,  with  an  air  of  mingled  sweet- 
ness and  dignity.  I  then,  being  immediately  behind  him, 
lost  sight  of  his  countenance,  but  saw  that  of  every  indi- 
vidual who  approached  to  be  presented.  The  Due  de 
Duras  stood  at  his  left  hand,  and  was  le  Grand  Maitre  des 
Ceremonies ;  Madame  de  Gouvello  stood  at  his  right  side ; 
though  whether  in  any  capacity,  or  simply  as  a  Frencli 
lady  known  to  him,  I  cannot  tell.  In  a  whisper,  from  that 
lady,  I  learned  more  fully  the  mistake  of  the  hotel,  the 


1814.]   '  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAT.  473 

Duchess  d'Angoul^me  never  having  meant  to  quit  that  of 
her  heau-phre,  Monsieur  le  Comte  d'Artois,  in  South  Audley 
Square. 

The  presentations  were  short,  and  without  much  mark 
or  Hkelihood.  The  men  bowed  low,  and  passed  on  ;  the 
ladies  curtseyed^  and  did  the  same.  Those  who  were  not 
known  gave  a  card,  I  think,  to  the  Due  de  Duras,  who 
named  them ;  those  of  former  acquaintance  with  his  Ma- 
jesty simply  made  their  obeisance. 

M.  de  Duras,  who  knew  how  much  fatigue  the  Kin"  had 
to  go  through,  hurried  every  one  on,  not  only  with  speed 
but  almost  with  ill-breeding,  to  my  extreme  astonishment. 
Yet  the  English,  by  express  command  of  his  Majesty,  had 
always  the  preference  and  always  took  place  of  the 
French ;  which  was  an  attention  of  the  King  in  return  for 
the  asylum  he  had  here  found,  that  he  seemed  delighted  to 
display. 

Early  in  this  ceremony  came  forward  Lady  Crewe,  who 
being  known  to  the  King  from  sundry  previous  meetings, 
was  not  named ;  and  only,  after  curtseying,  reciprocated 
smiles  with  his  Majesty,  and  passed  on.  But  instead  of 
then  moving  off,  though  the  Duke,  who  did  not  know  her, 
waved  his  hand  to  hasten  her  away,  she  whispered,  but 
loud  enough  for  me  to  hear,  "  Voila  Madame  d  'Arhlay ; 
il  faut  quelle  soil  pr^sentSe."  She  then  went  gaily  off, 
without  heeding  me. 

The  Duke  only  bowed,  but  by  a  quick  glance  recognized 
me,  and  by  another  showed  a  pleased  acquiescence  in  the 
demand. 

Eetreat,  now,  was  out  of  the  question;  but  I  so  feared 
ray  position  was  wrong,  that  I  was  terribly  disturbed,  and 
felt  hot  and  cold,  and  cold  and  hot,  alternately,  with  excess 
of  embarrassment. 

I  was  roused,  however,  after  hearing  for  so  long  a  time 


474  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

nothing  but  French,  by  the  sudden  sound  of  English.  An 
address  in  that  language  was  read  to  his  Majesty,  which 
was  presented  by  the  Noblemen  and  Gentlemen  of  the 
county  of  Buckingham,  congratulatory  upon  his  happy 
restoration,  and  filled  with  cordial  thanks  for  the  gracious- 
ness  of  his  manners,  and  the  benignity  of  his  conduct, 
during  his  long  residence  amongst  them;  warmly  pro- 
claiming their  participation  in  his  joy,  and  their  admiration 
of  his  virtues.  The  reader  was  Colonel  Nugent,  a  near 
relation  of  the  present  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

But,  if  the  unexpected  sound  of  these  felicitations 
delivered  in  English  roused  and  struck  me,  how  much 
greater  arose  my  astonishment  and  delight  when  the 
French  Monarch,  in  an  accent  of  the  most  condescending 
familiarity  and  pleasure,  uttered  his  acknowledgments  in 
English  also  —  expressing  his  gratitude  for  all  their  atten- 
tions, his  sense  of  their  kind  interest  in  his  favor,  and  his 
eternal  remembrance  of  the  obligations  he  owed  to  the 
whole  county  of  Buckingham,  for  the  asylum  and  consola- 
tions he  had  found  in  it  during  his  trials  and  calamities  ! 

I  wonder  not  that  Colonel  Nugent  was  so  touched  by 
this  reply,  as  to  be  led  to  bend  the  knee,  as  to  his  own 
Sovereign,  when  the  King  held  out  his  hand  ;  for  I  myself, 
though  a  mere  outside  auditress,  was  so  moved,  and  so 
transported  with  surprise  by  the  dear  English  language 
from  his  mouth,  that  I  forgot  at  once  all  my  fears,  and 
dubitations,  and,  indeed,  all  myself,  my  poor  little  self,  in 
my  pride  and  exultation  at  such  a  moment  for  my  noble 
country. 

Fortunately  for  me,  the  Due  de  Duras  made  this  the  mo- 
ment for  my  presentation,  and,  seizing  my  hand  and  draw- 
ing me  suddenly  from  behind  the  chair  to  the  Royal  presence, 
he  said,  "  Sire,  Madame  d'Arblay." 

How  singular  a  change,  that  what,  but  the  instant  before, 


1814.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY,  475 

would  have  overwhelmed  me  with  diffidence  and  embar- 
rassment, now  found  me  all  courage  and  animation !  and 
when  his  Majesty  took  my  hand  —  or,  rather,  took  hold  of 
my  fist  —  and  said,  in  very  pretty  English,  "  I  am  very 
happy  to  see  you,"  I  felt  such  a  glow  of  satisfaction,  that, 
involuntarily,  I  burst  forth  with  its  expression,  inco- 
lierently,  but  delightedly  and  irresistibly,  though  I  cannot 
remember  how.  He  certainly  was  not  displeased,  for  his 
smile  was  brightened  and  his  manner  was  most  flattering, 
as  he  repeated  that  he  was  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  added 
that  he  had  known  me,  "  though  without  sight,  very  long  : 
for  I  have  read  you  —  and  been  charmed  with  your  books 
—  charmed  and  entertained.  I  have  read  them  often,  I 
know  them  very  well  indeed ;  and  I  have  long  wanted  to 
know  you!  " 

I  was  extremely  surprised,  —  and  not  only  at  these  un- 
expected compliments,  but  equally  that  my  presentation, 
far  from  seeming,  as  1  had  apprehended,  strange,  was  met 
by  a  reception  of  the  utmost  encouragement.  When  he 
stopped,  and  let  go  my  hand,  I  curtseyed  respectfully,  and 
was  moving  on  ;  but  he  again  caught  my  Jist,  and,  fixing 
me,  with  looks  of  strong  though  smiling  investigation,  he 
appeared  archly  desirous  to  read  the  lines  of  my  face,  as  if 
to  deduce  from  them  the  qualities  of  my  mind.  His 
manner,  however,  was  so  polite  and  so  gentle  that  lie 
did  not  at  all  discountenance  me ;  and  though  he  re- 
sumed the  praise  of  my  little  works,  he  uttered  the  pane- 
gyric with  a  benignity  so  gay  as  well  as  flattering,  that 
I  felt  enlivened,  nay,  elevated,  with  a  joy  that  overcame 
inauvaise  honte. 

The  Due  de  Duras,  who  had  hurried  on  all  others,  seeing 
he  had  no  chance  to  dismiss  me  with  the  same  sans  cir4- 
inonie  speed,  now  joined  his  voice  to  exalt  my  satisfaction, 
by  saying,  at  the  next  pause,  "  Et  M.  d'Arblay,  Sire,  bon 


476  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1814. 

et  brave,  est  un  des  plus  devours  et  fidMes  serviteurs  de 
votre  Majesty." 

The  King,  with  a  gracious  little  motion  of  his  head,  and 
with  eyes  of  the  most  pleased  benevolence  expressively 
said,  "  Je  h  crois."  And  a  third  time  he  stopped  my  retir- 
ing curtsey,  to  take  my  hand.  This  last  stroke  gave  me 
such  delight,  for  my  absent  best  ami,  that  I  could  not 
again  attempt  to  speak.  The  King  pressed  my  hand  — 
wrist,  I  should  say,  for  it  was  that  he  grasped,  —  and  then 
saying,  "  Bon  jour,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  let  me  go. 

My  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears,  from  mingled  emo- 
tions ;  I  glided  nimbly  through  the  crowd  to  a  corner  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  Lady  Crewe  joined  me 
almost  instantly,  and  with  felicitations  the  most  amiably 
cordial  and  lively. 

We  then  repaired  to  a  sideboard,  on  which  we  contrived 
to  seat  ourselves,  and  Lady  Crewe  named  to  me  the  nu- 
merous personages  of  rank  who  passed  on  before  us  for 
presentation.  But  every  time  any  one  espied  her  and  ap- 
proached, she  named  me  also ;  an  honor  to  which  I  was 
very  averse.  This  I  intimated,  but  to  no  purpose ;  she 
went  on  her  own  way.  Tlie  curious  stares  this  produced, 
in  my  embarrassed  state  of  spirits,  from  recent  grief,  were 
really  painful  to  sustain ;  but  when  the  seriousness  of  my 
representation  forced  her  to  see  that  I  was  truly  in  earnest 
in  my  desire  to  remain  unnoticed,  she  was  so  much  vexed, 
and  even  provoked,  that  she  very  gravely  begged  that,  if 
such  were  the  case,  I  would  move  a  little  further  from  her ; 
saying,  "  If  one  must  be  so  ill-natured  to  people  as  not  to 
name  you,  I  had  rather  not  seem  to  know  who  you  are 
myself." 

When,  at  length,  her  ladyship's  chariot  was  announced, 
we  drove  to  Great  Cumberland  Place,  Lady  Crewe  being 
so  kind  as  to  convey  me  to  Mrs.  Angerstein. 


1814.] 


OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  477 


As  Lady  Crewe  was  too  mucli  in  haste  to  alight,  the 
sweet  Amelia  Angerstein  came  to  the  carriage  to  speak  to 
her,  and  to  make  known  that  a  letter  had  arrived  from  M. 
de  la  Chatre  relative  to  my  presentation,  which,  by  a  mis- 
take of  address,  had  not  come  in  time  for  my  reception. 


478  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1815. 


CHAPTER    X. 

1815  —  1840. 

[The  news  of  Bonaparte's  retvirn  from  Elba  recalled 
General  d'Arblay  to  France.  His  wife  accompanied  him, 
to  share  in  the  apprehensions  and  anxieties  which  pre- 
ceded "Waterloo,  and  afterward  served  as  nurse  to  her  hus- 
band, who  was  severely  injured  by  a  kick  from  a  horse, — 
an  injury  from  which  he  never  entirely  recovered.] 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Locke  and  Mrs.  Angerstein. 

Dover,  Oct.  18,  1815. 

Last  night,  my  ever  dear  friends,  we  arrived  once  more 
in  Old  England. 

I  write  this  to  send  the  moment  I  land  in  London.  I 
cannot  boast  of  our  health,  our  looks,  our  strength ;  but  I 
hope  we  may  recover  a  part  of  all  when  our  direful  fatigues, 
mental  and  corporeal,  cease  to  utterly  weigh  upon  and 
wear  us. 

We  shall  winter  in  Bath.  The  waters  of  Plombieres 
have  been  recommended  to  my  poor  hoiteux,  but  he  has 
obtained  a  conge  that  allows  this  change.  Besides  his 
present  utter  incapacity  for  military  service,  he  is  now  un- 
avoidably on  the  retraiU  list,  and  the  King  of  France 
permits  his  coming  over,  not  alone  without  difficulty,  but 


1816.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  479 

with  wishing  him  a  good  journey,  through  the  Due  de 
Luxembourg,  his  captain  in  the  Gardes  du  Corps. 

Adieu,  dearest  both  !  —  Almost  I  embrace  you  in  dating 
from  Dover.  Had  you  my  letter  from  Treves  ?  I  suspect 
not,  for  my  melancholy  new  history  would  have  brought 
your  kind  condolence  :  or,  otherwise,  that  missed  me.  Our 
letters  were  almost  all  intercepted  by  the  Prussians  while 
we  were  there.  Not  one  answer  arrived  to  us  from  Paris 
save  by  private  hands. 

My  kindest  love  to  my  dear  Lady  Martin.  I  waited  a 
happy  moment  to  write  her  my  congratulations.  Alas ! 
I  have  been  persecuted  by  disaster  almost  from  the  time 
I  left  England.  Flights,  illness,  terrors,  and  grievous  acci- 
dents have  followed  or  met  me  at  every  step. 


Madame  d^ Arblay  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Bath,  February  15,  1816. 
Incredible  is  the  time  I  have  lost  without  givins;  in 
that  claim  which  has  never  been  given  in  vain  for  news  of 
my  own  dear  friend ;  but  I  have  been  —  though  not  ill,  so 
continually  unwell,  and  though  not,  as  so  recently,  in  dis- 
ordered and  disorganizing  difficulties,  yet  so  incessantly 
occupied  with  small,  but  indispensable  occupations,  that 
the  post  hour  has  always  gone  by  to-day  to  be  waited  for 
to-morrow.  Yet  my  heart  has  never  been  satisfied  —  I 
don't  mean  with  itself,  for  with  that  it  can  never  quarrel 
on  this  subject,  —  but  with  my  pen  —  my  slack,  worn, 
irregular,  fugitive,  fatigued,  yet  ever  faithful,  though  never 
punctual  pen.  My  dearest  friend  forgives,  I  know,  even 
that ;  but  her  known  and  unvarying  lenity  is  the  very 
cause  I  cannot  forgive  it  myself. 


480  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1816. 

We  have  had  our  Alexander  for  six  weeks ;  he  left  us 
three  days  ago,  and  I  won't  tell  my  dear  friend  whether  or 
not  we  miss  him.  He  is  precisely  such  as  he  was  —  as 
inartificial  in  his  character,  as  irregular  in  his  studies.  He 
cannot  bring  himself  to  conquer  his  disgust  of  the  routine 
of  labor  at  Cambridge ;  and  while  he  energetically  argues 
upon  the  innocence  of  a  preference  to  his  own  early  prac- 
tice,^ which  he  vindicates,  I  believe  unanswerably,  with 
regard  to  its  real  superiority,  he  is  insensible,  at  least  for- 
getful, of  all  that  can  be  urged  of  the  mischiefs  to  his 
prospects  in  life  that  must  result  from  his  not  conquering 
his  inclinations.  I  have  nearly  lost  all  hope  of  his  taking 
the  high  degree  adjudged  to  him  by  general  expectation  at 
the  University,  from  the  promise  of  his  opening. 

Of  all  friends  here,  I  have  found  stationary,  Mrs.  Holroyd^ 
and  Mrs.  Frances  and  Harriet  Bowdler.  Mrs.  Holroyd 
still  gives  parties,  and  tempted  me  to  hear  a  little  medley 
music,  as  she  called  it.  Mrs.  F.  Bowdler  lives  on  Lans- 
downe  Crescent,  and  scarcely  ever  comes  down  the  hill ; 
Mrs.  Harriet  I  have  missed,  though  we  have  repeatedly 
sought  a  meeting  on  both  sides  ;  but  she  left  Bath  for  some 
excursion  soon  after  my  arrival.  Another  new  resident 
here  will  excite,  I  am  sure,  a  more  animated  interest  — 
Mrs.  Piozzi. 

The  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  my  old  friend,  found  me  out, 
and  came  to  make  me  a  long  and  most  amiable  visit,  which 

was  preceded  by  Mrs.  F ,  and  we  all  spent  an  evening 

with  them  very  sociably  and  pleasantly. 

F.  B.  d'A. 


1  He  had  studied  mathematics  in  Paris  according  to  the  analytical 
method,  instead  of  the  geometrical,  which  was  at  that  time  exclusively 
taught  at  Cambridge. 


1817.]  OF   MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  481 

Madame  d'Arblay  to  her  Son. 

Bath,  April  30. 
Your  uncle  has  bought  the  picture  of  my  dearest  father 
at  Streatham.  I  am  truly  rejoiced  it  will  come  into  our 
family,  since  the  collection  for  which  it  was  painted  is 
broken  up.  Your  uncle  has  also  bought  the  Garrick,  which 
was  one  of  the  most  agreeable  and  delightful  of  the  set. 
To  what  recollections,  at  once  painful  and  pleasing,  does 
this  sale  give  birth  !  In  the  library,  in  which  those  pictures 
were  hung,  we  always  breakfasted ;  and  there  I  have  had 
as  many  precious  conversations  with  the  great  and  good 
Dr.  Johnson  as  there  are  days  in  the  year.  Dr.  Johnson 
sold  the  highest  of  all !  't  is  an  honor  to  our  age,  that !  — 
360/. !  Aly  dear  father  would  have  been  mounted  higher, 
but  that  his  son  Charles  was  there  to  bid  for  himself,  and, 
everybody  must  have  seen,  was  resolved  to  have  it.  There 
was  besides,  I  doubt  not,  a  feeling  for  his  lineal  claim  and 
pious  desire. 


Madame  d' Arblay  to  General  d'' Arblay.^ 

Ilfracombe,  Devoxshire,  July  2,  1817. 

This  very  day  of  our  arrival,  before  Alex,  had  had  time  to 
search  out  Mr.  Jacob,  somebody  called  out  to  him  in  the 
street,  "  Ah,  d'Arblay  ! "  who  proved  to  be  his  man.  They 
strolled  about  the  town,  and  then  Jacob  desired  to  be 
brought  to  me.  Unluckily,  I  was  unpacking,  and  denied. 
He  has  appointed  Alex,  for  a  lesson  to-morrow.  May  he 
put  him  a  little  en  train  ! 

July  Srd.  —  Alexander  began  with  Mr.  Jacob,  and  was 
enchanted  at  his  method  of  instruction,  as  well  as  by  his 
kindness. 

^  Then  in  Paris. 

VOL.  II.  31 


482  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1817, 

July  5th,  Saturday.  —  I  must  now  give  you  some  account 
of  this  place.  We  are  lodged  on  the  harbor.  The  mistress 
of  our  apartments  is  widow  to  some  master  of  a  vessel 
that  traded  at  Ilfracombe,  with  Ireland  chiefly.  She  has 
tiiree  or  four  children :  the  eldest,  but  twelve  years  old,  is 
the  servant  of  the  lodgers,  and  as  adroit  as  if  she  was  thir- 
ty. Our  situation  is  a  very  amusing  one :  for  the  quay  is 
narrow,  and  there  are  vessels  just  on  its  level,  so  close  that 
even  children  walk  into  them  all  day  long.  When  the  sea 
is  up,  the  scene  is  gay,  busy,  and  interesting ;  but  on  its  ebb 
the  sands  here  are  not  clean  and  inviting,  but  dark  and 
muddy,  and  the  reverse  of  odoriferous.  But  the  entrance 
and  departure  of  vessels,  the  lading,  unlading,  and  the 
management  of  ships  and  boats,  offer  constantly  something 
new  to  an  eye  accustomed  only  to  land  views  and  occupa- 
tions. But  chiefly  I  wish  for  you  for  the  amusement  you 
would  find  from  a  Spanish  vessel,  which  is  close  to  the 
quay,  immediately  opposite  to  our  apartments,  and  on  a 
level  with  the  parlor  of  the  house.  It  has  been  brought  in 
under  suspicion  of  piracy,  or  smuggling,  or  aiding  the  slave 
trade.  What  the  circumstances  of  the  accusation  are  I 
know  not ;  but  the  captain  is  to  be  tried  at  Exeter  on  tlie 
ensuing  western  circuit.  Meantime,  his  goods  are  all  se- 
questered, and  he  has  himself  dismissed  all  his  sailors  and 
crew,  to  rejoin  him  when  the  trial  is  over.  He  is  upon  his 
parole,  and  has  liberty  to  go  whithersoever  he  will ;  but  he 
makes  no  use  of  the  permission,  as  he  chooses  not  to  leave 
his  cargo  solely  under  the  inspection  of  the  excisemen  and 
custom  officers  here,  who  have  everything  under  lock  and 
key  and  seal.  He  is  a  good-looking  man,  and,  while  not 
condemned,  all  are  willing  to  take  his  word  for  his  inno- 
pence.  Should  that  be  proved,  what  compensation  will  be 
sufficient  for  repairing  his  confinement  ?  He  has  retained 
with  him  only  his  physician,  his  o\yii  servant,  his  cook,  and  a 


1817.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  483 

boy,  with  another  lad,  who  is  an  American.     I  see  him  all 
day  long,  walking  his  quarter-deck,  and  ruminating  upon  his 
situation,  with  an  air  of  philosophy  that  shows  strong  char- 
acter.    His  physician,  who  is  called  here  the  Doctor,  and  is 
very  popular,   is  his   interpreter;  he  speaks  English  and 
French,  has  a  spirited,  handsome   face,  and  manners  the 
most  courteous,  though  with  a  look  darkly   shrewd   and 
Spanish.     But  the  person  who  would  most  entertain  you  is 
the  cook,  who  appears  the  man  of  most  weight  in  the  little 
coterie ;  for  he  lets  no  one  interfere  with  his  manceuvres. 
All  is  performed  for  the  table  in  full  sight,  a  poele  being 
lighted  with  a  burning  fierce  fire  upon  the  deck,  where  he 
officiates.      He  wears  a  complete  white  dress,  and  has  a 
pail  of  water  by  his  side,  in  which  he  washes  everything  he 
dresses,  and  his  own  hands  to  boot,  with  great  attention. 
He  begins  his  pot  an  feu  soon  after  seven  every  morning, 
and  I  watch  the  operation  from  my  window :  it  is  entire- 
ly French,  except  that  he  puts  in  more  meat,  and  has  it 
cut,  apparently,  into  pounds :  for  I  see  it  all  carved  into 
square  morsels,  seemingly  of  that  weight,  which  he  inserts 
bit  by  bit,  with  whole  bowls,  delicately  cleaned,  washed,  and 
prepared,  of  cabbages,  chicory,  turnips,  carrots,  celery,  and 
small  herbs.     Then  some  thick  slices  of  ship  ham,  and  an- 
other bowl  of  onions  and  garlic ;  salt  by  a  handful,  and 
pepper  by  a  wooden  spoon    full.      This  is  left  for  many 
hours ;  and  in  the  interval  he  prepares  a  porridge  of  pota- 
toes well  mashed,  and  barley  well  boiled,  with  some  other  in- 
gredient that,  when  it  is  poured  into  a  pan,  bubbles  up  like 
a  syllabub.     But  before  he  begins,  he  employs  the  two  lads 
to  wash  all  the  ship.     To  see  all  this  is  the  poor  captain's 
only  diversion  ;  but  the  cook  never  heeds  him  while  at 
his  professional  operations ;  he   even   motions   to  him  to 
get  out  of  the  way  if  he  approaches  too  near,  and  is  so  in- 
tent upon  his  grand  business  that  he  shakes  his  head  with- 


484  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1817. 

out  answering,  when  the  captain  speaks  to  him,  with  an  air 
that  says,  "  Are  you  crazy,  to  try  to  take  off  my  attention  ?  " 
And  when  the  doctor,  who  often  advances  to  make  some 
observation,  and  to  look  on,  tries  to  be  heard,  he  waves  his 
hand  in  disdain,  to  silence  him.  Yet,  when  all  is  done, 
and  he  has  taken  off  his  wdiite  dress,  he  becomes  all  obse- 
quiousness, respectfully  standing  out  of  the  way,  or  dili- 
gently flying  forward  to  execute  any  command. 


Diary  continued. 

The  term  for  Alexander's  studies  with  Mr.  Jacob  was 
just  finishing,  and  a  few  days  only  remained  ere  the  party 
was  to  be  dispersed,  when  I  determined  upon  devoting  a 
morning  to  the  search  of  such  curiosities  as  the  coast  pro- 
duced. I  marched  forth,  attended  only  by  M.  d'Arblay's 
favorite  little  dog,  Diane,  with  a  large  silk  bag,  to  see  what 
I  could  find  that  I  might  deem  indigenous,  as  a  local  offer- 
ing to  the  collection  of  my  General,  who  was  daily  increas- 
ing his  mineralogical  stores,  under  the  skilful  direction  of 
his  friend,  the  celebrated  naturalist,  M.  de  Bournon. 

I  began  my  perambulation  by  visiting  the  promontory 
called  the  Capstan  —  or  rather  attempting  that  visit ;  for 
after  mounting  to  nearly  its  height,  by  a  circuitous  path 
from  the  town,  by  which  alone  the  ascent  is  possible,  the 
side  of  the  promontory  being  a  mere  precipice  overlooking 
the  ocean,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  dashed  so  violently 
against  us,  that  in  the  danger  of  being  blown  into  the  sea, 
I  dropped  on  the  turf  at  full  length,  and  saw  Diane  do  the 
same,  with  her  four  paws  spread  as  widely  as  possible,  to 
flatten  her  body  more  completely  to  the  ground. 

This  opening  to  my  expedition  thus  briefly  set  aside,  I 
repaired  to  the  coast,  where  there  are  pebbles,  at  least,  in 
great  beauty  as  well  as  aljundance.     The  coast  of  Ilfra- 


1817.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  485 

combe  is  broken  by  rocks,  which  bear  evident  marks  of 
being  fragments  of  some  one  immense  rock,  which,  under- 
mined by  the  billows  in  successive  storms,  has  been  cast 
in  all  directions  in  its  fall.  We  went  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  sea,  which  was  clear,  smooth,  and  immovable  as  a  lake, 
the  wind  having  subsided  into  a  calm  so  quiet,  that  I  could 
not  tell  whether  the  tide  were  in  or  out.  Not  a  creature 
was  in  sight ;  but  presently  a  lady  descended,  with  a  book 
in  her  hand,  and  passed  on  before  us  to  the  right,  evidently 
to  read  alone.  Satisfied  by  this  circumstance  that  the  tide 
was  going  out,  and  all  was  safe,  I  began  my  search,  and 
soon  accumulated  a  collection  of  beautiful  pebbles,  each  of 
which  seemed  to  merit  being  set  in  a  ring.  The  pleasure 
they  afforded  me  insensibly  drew  me  on  to  the  entrance  of 
the  Wildersmouth,  which  is  the  name  given  to  a  series  of 
recesses  formed  by  the  rocks,  and  semi-circular,  open  at  the 
bottom  to  the  sea,  and  only  to  be  entered  from  the  sands 
at  low  tide.  I  coasted  two  or  three  of  them,  augmenting 
my  spoil  as  I  proceeded  ;  and  perceiving  the  lady  I  have 
already  mentioned  composedly  engaged  with  her  book,  I 
hurried  past  to  visit  the  last  recess,  whither  I  had  never 
yet  ventured.  I  found  it  a  sort  of  chamber,  though  with 
no  roof  but  a  clear  blue  sky.  The  top  was  a  portly  moun- 
tain, rough,  steep,  and  barren ;  the  left  side  was  equally 
mountainous,  but  consisting  of  layers  of  a  sort  of  slate, 
intermixed  with  moss  ;  the  right  side  was  the  elevated 
Capstan,  which  here  was  perpendicular  ;  and  at  the  bottom 
were  the  sands  by  which  I  entered  it,  terminated  by  the 
ocean.  The  whole  was  altogether  strikingly  picturesque, 
wild,  and  original.  There  was  not  one  trace  of  art,  or  even 
of  any  previous  entrance  into  it  of  man.  I  could  almost 
imagine  myself  its  first  human  inmate. 

My  eye  was  presently  caught  by  the  appearance,  near 
the'  top,  of  a  cavern,  at  the  foot  of  which  I  perceived 


486  DIARY  AND  LETTERS  [1817. 

something  of  so  brilliant  a  whiteness  that,  in  hopes  of  a 
treasure  for  my  bag,  I  hastened  to  the  spot.  What  had 
attracted  me  proved  to  be  the  jawbone  and  teeth  of  some 
animal.  Various  rudely  curious  things  at  the  mouth  of  the 
cavern  invited  investigation  ;  Diane,  however,  brushed 
forward,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight ;  but  while  I  was  busily 
culling,  hoarding,  or  rejecting  whatever  struck  my  fancy, 
she  returned  with  an  air  so  piteous,  and  a  whine  so 
unusual,  that,  concluding  she  pined  to  return  to  a  little 
puppy  of  a  week  old  that  she  was  then  rearing,  I  deter- 
mined to  hasten ;  but  still  went  on  with  my  search,  till 
the  excess  of  her  distress  leading  her  to  pull  me  by  the 
gown,  moved  me  to  take  her  home  ;  but  when  I  descended, 
for  this  recess  was  on  a  slant,  how  was  I  confounded  to 
find  the  sands  at  the  bottom,  opening  to  the  recess,  whence 
I  had  entered  this  marine  chamber,  were  covered  by  the 
waves ;  though  so  gentle  had  been  their  motion,  and  so 
calm  was  the  sea,  that  their  approach  had  not  caught  my 
ear.  I  hastily  remounted,  hoping  to  find  some  outlet  at 
the  top  by  which  I  might  escape,  but  there  was  none. 
This  was  not  pleasant ;  but  stiU  I  was  not  frightened,  not 
conceiving  or  believing  that  I  could  be  completely  en- 
closed :  the  less,  as  I  recollected,  in  my  passage  to  the 
cavern,  having  had  a  glimpse  of  the  lady  who  was  reading 
in  the  neighboring  recess.  I  hastily  scrambled  to  the  spot 
to  look  for  her,  and  entreat  her  assistance  ;  but  how  was 
I  then  startled  to  find  that  she  was  gone,  and  that  her 
recess,  which  was  on  less  elevated  ground  than  mine,  was 
fast  filling  with  water  ! 

I  now  rushed  down  to  the  sea,  determined  to  risk  a  wet 
jerkin,  by  wading  through  a  wave  or  two,  to  secure  myself 
from  being  shut  up  in  this  unfrequented  place :  but  the 
time  was  past !  The  weather  suddenly  changed,  the  lake 
was  gone,  and  billows  mounted   one   after  the  other,  as 


1817.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  487 

if  with  enraged  pursuit  of  what  they  could  seize  and 
swallow. 

I  eagerly  ran  up  and  down,  from  side  to  side,  and 
examined  every  nook  and  corner,  every  projection  and 
hollow,  to  find  any  sort  of  opening  through  which  I  could 
pass  —  but  there  was  none. 

Diane  looked  scared ;  she  whined,  she  prowled  about ; 
her  dismay  was  evident,  and  filled  me  with  compassion  — 
but  I  could  not  interrupt  my  affrighted  search  to  console 
her.  Soon  after,  however,  she  discovered  a  hole  in  the 
rock  at  the  upper  part,  which  seemed  to  lead  to  the  higher 
sands.  She  got  through  it,  and  then  turned  round  to  bark, 
as  triumphing  in  her  success,  and  calling  upon  me  to  share 
its  fruits.  But  in  vain !  —  the  hollow  was  too  small  for 
any  passage  save  of  my  head,  and  I  could  only  have  re- 
mained in  it  as  if  standing  in  the  pillory.  I  still,  therefore, 
continued  my  own  perambulation,  but  I  made  a  motion  to 
my  poor  Diane  to  go,  deeming  it  cruel  to  detain  her  from 
her  little  one.  Yet  I  heard  her  howl  as  if  reduced  to 
despair  that  I  would  not  join  her.  Anon,  however,  she  was 
silent  —  I  looked  after  her,  but  she  had  disappeared 

This  was  an  alarming  moment.  Alone,  without  the 
smallest  aid,  or  any  knowledge  how  high  the  sea  might 
mount,  or  what  was  the  extent  of  my  danger,  I  looked  up 
wistfully  at  Capstan,  and  perceived  the  iron  salmon ;  but  this 
angle  of  that  promontory  was  so  steep  as  to  be  utterly 
impracticable  for  climbing  by  human  feet ;  and  its  height 
was  such  as  nearly  to  make  me  giddy  in  considering  it 
from  so  close  a  point  of  view.  I  went  from  it,  therefore, 
to  the  much  less  elevated  and  less  perpendicular  rock 
opposite  ;  but  there  all  that  was  not  slate,  which  crumbled 
in  my  hands,  was  moss,  from  which  they  glided.  There 
was  no  hold  whatever  for  the  feet. 

I   ran  therefore  to   the   top,   where  a  large   rock,  by 


488  .  DIARY   AND  LETTERS  [1817. 

reaching  from  tlie  upper  part  of  this  slated  one  to  Capstan, 
formed  the  chamber  in  which  I  was  thus  unexpectedly 
immured.  But  this  was  so  rough,  pointed,  sharp,  and 
steep  that  I  could  scarcely  touch  it.  The  hole  through 
which  Diane  had  crept  was  at  an  accidentally  thin  part,  and 
too  small  to  afford  a  passage  to  anything  bigger  than  her 
little  self  The  rising  storm,  however,  brought  forward  the 
billows  with  augmented  noise  and  violence ;  and  my  wild 
asylum  lessened  every  moment.  Now,  indeed,  I  compre- 
hended the  extent  of  my  danger.  If  a  wave  once  reached 
my  feet,  while  coming  upon  me  with  the  tumultuous  vehe- 
mence of  this  storm,  I  had  nothing  I  could  hold  by  to  sustain 
me  from  becoming  its  prey ;  and  must  inevitably  be  car- 
ried away  into  the  ocean. 

I  darted  about  in  search  of  some  place  of  safety,  rapidly, 
and  all  eye ;  till  at  length  I  espied  a  small  tuft  of  grass  on 
the  pinnacle  of  the  highest  of  the  small  rocks  that  were 
scattered  about  my  prison  ;  for  such  now  appeared  my  fear- 
ful dwelling-place.  This  happily  pointed  out  to  me  a  spot 
that  the  waves  had  never  yet  attained  ;  for  all  around  bore 
marks  of  their  visits.  To  reach  that  tuft  would  be  safety, 
and  I  made  the  attempt  with  eagerness ;  but  the  obstacles 
I  encountered  were  terrible.  The  roughness  of  the  rock  tore 
my  clothes ;  its  sharp  points  cut,  now  my  feet,  and  now  my 
fingers ;  and  the  distances  from  each  other  of  the  holes  by 
which  I  could  gain  any  footing  for  my  ascent,  increased  the 
difficulty.  I  gained,  however,  nearly  a  quarter  of  the  height, 
but  I  could  climb  no  further ;  and  tlien  found  myself  on  a 
ledge  where  it  was  possible  to  sit  down  ;  and  I  have  rarely 
found  a  little  repose  more  seasonable.  But  it  was  not  more 
sweet  than  short :  for  in  a  few  minutes  a  sudden  gust  of  wind 
raised  the  waves  to  a  frightful  heiglit,  whence  their  foam 
reached  the  base  of  my  place  of  refuge,  and  threatened  to  at- 
tain soon  the  spot  to  which  I  had  ascended.     I  now  saw  a 


1817.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  489 

positive  necessity  to  mount  yet  higheT,co'dfe  qui  codte  ;  and, 
little  as  I  had  thought  it  possible,  the  pressing  danger  gave 
me  both  means  and  fortitude  to  accomplish  it :  but  with  so 
much  hardship  that  I  have  ever  since  marvelled  at  my 
success.  My  hands  were  wounded,  my  knees  were  bruised, 
and  my  feet  were  cut ;  for  I  could  only  scramble  up  by 
clinging  to  the  rock  on  all  fours. 

When  I  had  reached  to  about  two-thirds  of  the  height 
of  my  rock,  I  could  climb  no  further.  All  above  was  so 
sharp  and  so  perpendicular  that  neither  hand  nor  foot  could 
touch  it  without  being  wounded.  My  head,  however,  was 
nearly  on  a  level  with  the  tuft  of  grass,  and  my  elevation 
from  the  sands  was  very  considerable.  I  hoped,  therefore, 
I  was  safe  from  being  washed  away  by  the  waves ;  but  I 
could  only  hope ;  I  had  no  means  to  ascertain  my  situation; 
and,  hope  as  I  might,  it  was  as  painful  as  it  was  hazardous. 
The  tuft  to  which  I  had  aimed  to  rise,  and  which,  had  I 
succeeded,  would  have  been  security,  was  a  mere  point,  as 
unattainable  as  it  was  unique,  not  another  blade  of  grass 
being  anywhere  discernible.  I  was  rejoiced,  however,  to 
have  reached  a  spot  where  there  was  sufficient  breadth  to 
place  one  foot  at  least  without  cutting  it,  though  the  other 
was  poised  on  such  unfriendly  ground  that  it  could  bear 
no  part  in  sustaining  me.  Before  me  was  an  immense 
slab,  chiefly  of  slate,  but  it  was  too  slanting  to  serve  for  a 
seat  —  and  seat  I  had  none.  My  only  prop,  therefore,  was 
holding  by  the  slab,  where  it  Avas  of  a  convenient  height 
for  my  hands.  This  support,  besides  affording  me  a  little 
rest,  saved  me  from  becoming  giddy,  and  enabled  me  from 
time  to  time  to  alternate  the  toil  of  my  feet. 

Glad  was  I,  at  least,  that  my  perilous  clambering  had 
finished  by  bringing  me  to  a  place  where  I  might  remain 
still ;  for  with  affright,  fatigue,  and  exertion  I  was  almost 
exhausted.     The  wind  was  now  abated,  and  the  sea  so 


490  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1817. 

calm,  that  I  could  not  be  sure  whether  the  tide  was  still 
coming  in.  To  ascertain  this  was  deeply  necessary  for  my 
tranquillity,  that  I  might  form  some  idea  what  would  be 
the  length  of  my  torment.  I  fixed  my  eyes,  therefore,  upon 
two  rocks  that  stood  near  the  sea  entrance  into  my  recess, 
almost  close  to  the  promontory,  from  which  they  had  prob- 
ably been  severed  by  successive  storms.  As-  they  were 
always  in  the  sea  I  could  easily  make  my  calculation  by 
observing  whether  they  seemed  to  lengthen  or  shorten. 
With  my  near-sighted  glass  I  watched  them ;  and  great 
was  my  consternation  when,  little  by  little,  I  lost  sight  of 
them.  I  now  looked  wistfully  onward  to  the  main  ocean, 
in  the  hope  of  espying  some  vessel,  or  fishing-boat,  with 
intention  of  spreading  and  waving  my  parasol,  in  signal  of 
distress,  should '  any  one  come  in  sight.  But  nothing 
appeared.  All  was  vacant  and  vast !  I  w^as  wholly  alone 
—  wholly  isolated.  I  feared  to  turn  my  head  lest  I  should 
become  giddy,  and  lose  my  balance. 

In  this  terrible  state,  painful,  dangerous,  and,  more  than 
all,  solitary,  who  could  paint  my  joy,  when  suddenly,  re- 
entering by  the  aperture  in  the  rock  through  which  she  had 
quitted  me,  I  perceived  my  dear  little  Diane  !  For  the 
instant  I  felt  as  if  restored  to  safety  —  I  no  longer  seemed 
abandoned.  She  soon  leaped  across  the  flat  stones  and  the 
sands  which  separated  us,  but  how  great  was  the  difficulty 
to  make  her  climb  as  I  had  climbed !  Twenty  times  she 
advanced  only  to  retreat  from  the  sharp  points  of  the  rock, 
till  ultimately  she  picked  herself  out  a  passage  by  help  of 
the  slate,  and  got  upon  the  enormous  table,  of  which  the 
upper  part  was  my  support ;  but  the  slant  was  such,  that 
as  fast  as  she  ascended  she  slipped  down,  and  we  were 
both,  I  believe,  almost  hopeless  of  the  desired  junction, 
when,  catching  at  a  favorable  moment  that  had  advanced  her 
paws  within  my  reach,  I  contrived  to  hook  her  collar  by 


1817.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  491 

the  curved  end  of  my  parasol  and  help  her  forward.  This 
I  did  with  one  hand,  and  as  quick  as  lightning,  dragging 
her  over  the  slab  and  dropping  her  at  my  feet,  whence  she 
soon  nestled  herself  in  a  sort  of  niche  of  slate,  in  a  situation 
much  softer  than  mine,  but  in  a  hollow  that  for  me  was 
impracticable.  I  hastily  recovered  my  hold,  which  I  mar- 
vel now  that  I  had  the  temerity  to  let  go ;  but  to  have  at  my 
side  my  dear  little  faithful  Diane  was  a  comfort  which  no 
one  not  planted,  and  for  a  term  that  seemed  indefinite,  in 
so  unknown  a  solitude,  can  conceive.  What  cries  of  joy 
the  poor  little  thing  uttered  when  thus  safely  lodged  !  and 
with  what  tenderness  I  sought  to  make  her  sensible  of  my 
gratitude  for  her  return  ! 

I  was  now,  compared  with  all  that  had  preceded,  in 
Paradise  ;  so  enchanted  did  I  feel  at  no  longer  considering 
myself  as  if  alone  in  the  world.  Oh,  well  I  can  conceive 
the  interest  excited  in  the  French  prisoner  by  a  spider, 
even  a  spider  !  Total  absence  of  all  animation  in  a  place 
of  confinement,  of  which  the  term  is  unknown,  where  voli- 
tion is  set  aside,  and  where  captivity  is  the  work  of  the 
elements,  casts  the  fancy  into  a  state  of  solemn  awe,  of 
fearful  expectation,  which  I  have  not  words  to  describe ; 
while  the  higher  mind,  mastering  at  times  that  fancy,  seeks 
resignation  from  the  very  sublimity  of  that  terrific  vacuity 
whence  all  seems  exiled,  but  self :  seeks,  and  finds  it  in  the 
almost  visible  security  of  the  omnipresence  of  God. 

To  see  after  my  kind  little  companion  was  an  occupation 
that  for  awhile  kept  me  from  seeing  after  myself;  but 
when  I  had  done  what  I  could  towards  giving  her  comfort 
and  assistance,  I  again  looked  before  me,  and  saw  the 
waters  at  the  base  of  my  rock  of  refuge,  still  gradually 
rising  on,  while  both  my  rocks  of  mark  were  completely 
swallowed  up  ! 

My  next  alarm  was  one  that  explained  that  of  Diane 


492  DIARY  AXD   LETTERS  [1817. 

when  she  came  back  so  scared  from  the  cavern  ;  for  the 
waves,  probably  from  some  subterraneous  passage,  now 
forced  their  way  through  that  cavern,  threatening  inunda- 
tion to  even  the  highest  part  of  my  chamber. 

This  was  horrific.  I  could  no  longer  even  speak  to  Di- 
ane—  my  eyes  were  riveted  upon  this  unexpected  gulf, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  an  immense  breaker  attacked  my 
rock,  and,  impeded  by  its  height  from  going  straight  for- 
ward, was  dashed  in  two  directions,  and  foamed  onward 
against  each  side. 

I  did  not  breathe  —  I  felt  faint  —  I  felt  even  sea-sick. 
On,  then,  with  added  violence  came  two  wide-spreading 
waves,  and,  being  parted  by  my  rock,  completely  encom- 
passed it,  meeting  each  other  on  the  further  and  upper 
ground.  I  now  gave  up  my  whole  soul  to  prayer  for  my- 
self and  for  my  Alexander,  and  that  I  might  mercifully  be 
spared  this  watery  grave,  or  be  endowed  with  courage  and 
faith  for  meeting  it  with  firmness. 

The  next  waves  reached  to  the  uppermost  end  of  my 
chamber,  which  was  now  all  sea,  save  the  small  rock  upon 
which  I  was  mounted  !  How  I  might  have  been  subdued 
by  a  situation  so  awful  at  once,  and  so  helpless,  if  left  to 
its  unmixed  contemplation,  I  know  not ;  had  I  not  been 
still  called  into  active  service  in  sustaining  my  poor  Diane. 
No  sooner  were  we  thus  encompassed  than  she  was  seized 
with  a  dismay  that  filled  me  with  pity.  She  trembled 
violently,  and  rising  and  looking  down  at  the  dreadful 
sight  of  sea,  sea,  sea  all  around,  and  sea  still  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  the  view  beyond,  she  turned  up  her  face  to  me, 
as  if  appealing  for  protection ;  and  when  I  spoke  to  her 
with  kindness,  she  crept  forward  to  my  feet,  and  was  in- 
stantly taken  with  a  shivering  fit. 

I  could  neither  sit  nor  kneel  to  offer  her  any  comfort, 
but  I  dropped  down  as  children  do  when  they  play  at  hunt 


1817.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  493 

the  slipper,  for  so  only  could  I  lose  my  hold  of  the  slab 
without  falling,  and  I  then  stroked  and  caressed  her  in  as 
fondling  a  way  as  if  she  had  been  a  child ;  and  I  recovered 
her  from  her  ague-fit  by  rubbing  her  head  and  back  with 
my  shawl.  She  then  looked  up  at  me  somewhat  com- 
posed, though  still  piteous  and  forlorn,  and  licked  my 
hands  with  gratitude. 

While  this  passed  the  sea  had  gained  considerably  in 
height,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  all  the  horrors  of  a 
tempest  seemed  impending.  The  wind  roared  around  me, 
pushing  on  the  waves  with  a  frothy  velocity  that,  to  a  by- 
stander, not  to  an  inmate  amidst  them,  would  have  been 
beautiful.  It  whistled  with  shrill  and  varying  tones  from 
the  numberless  crevices  in  the  three  immense  rocky  moun- 
tains by  M^hose  semicircular  adhesion  I  was  thus  immured ; 
and  it  burst  forth  at  times  in  squalls,  reverberating  from 
height  to  height  or  chasm  to  chasm,  as  if  "  the  big-mouthed 
thunder  " 

"  Were  bellowing  through  the  vast  and  boundless  deep." 

A  wave,  at  length,  more  stupendous  than  any  which  had 
preceded  it,  dashed  against  my  rock  as  if  enraged  at  an 
interception  of  its  progress,  and  rushed  on  to  the  extremity 
of  this  savage  chamber,  with  foaming  impetuosity.  This 
moment  I  believed  to  be  my  last  of  mortality  '  but  a  mo- 
ment only  it  was ;  for  scarcely  had  I  time,  with  all  the 
rapidity  of  concentrated  thought,  to  recommend  myself, 
my  husband,  and  my  poor  Alexander,  humbly  but  fervently 
to  the  mercy  of  the  Almighty,  when  the  celestial  joy  broke 
in  upon  me  of  perceiving  that  this  wave,  which  had  bounded 
forward  with  such  fury,  was  the  last  of  the  rising  tide  !  In 
its  rebound,  it  forced  back  with  it,  for  an  instant,  the  whole 
body  of  water  that  was  lodged  nearest  to  the  upper  ex- 
tremity of  my  recess,  and  the  transporting  sight  was  granted 


494  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1817. 

me  of  an  opening  to  the  sands ;  but  they  were  covered 
again  the  next  instant,  and  as  no  other  breaker  made  a 
similar  opening,  I  was  still,  for  a  considerable  length  of 
time,  in  the  same  situation  ;  but  I  lost  hope  no  more. 
The  tide  was  turned  ;  it  could  rise  therefore  no  higher ;  the 
danger  was  over  of  so  unheard-of  an  end ;  of  vanishing  no 
one  knew  how  or  where  —  of  leaving  to  my  kind,  deplor- 
ing friends  an  unremitting  uncertainty  of  my  fate  —  of  my 
re-appearance  or  dissolution.  I  now  wanted  nothing  but 
time,  and  caution,  to  effect  my  deliverance. 

The  threat  of  the  tempest,  also,  was  over ;  the  air  grew 
as  serene  as  my  mind,  the  sea  far  more  calm,  the  sun 
beautifully  tinged  the  west,  and  its  setting  upon  the  ocean 
was  resplendent.  By  remembrance,  however,  alone,  I  speak 
of  its  glory,  not  from  any  pleasure  I  then  experienced  in 
its  sight :  it  told  me  of  the  waning  day  ;  and  the  anxiety 
I  had  now  dismissed  for  myself  redoubled  for  my  poor 
Alexander. 

I  now  turned  to  considering  how  I  might  be  placed  less 
painfully ;  for  what  I  had  supported  while  in  such  immi- 
nent danger  seemed  now  insupportable,  and  when  my  eyes 
and  my  whole  faculties  were  no  longer  monopolized  by 
immediate  care  of  life,  in  watching  the  tide,  I  was  able  to 
devise  various  contrivances  for  my  better  accommodation. 
I  found  out  crevices  for  holding  my  feet  so  as  to  allow  of 
my  standing  upright,  and  I  discovered  a  spot  of  the  slab 
upon  which  I  could  occasionally  lean  one  of  my  elbows. 
Not  small  were  these  solaces ;  I  felt  them  to  be  almost  in- 
valuable, so  cramped  had  been  my  position.  But  no  pos- 
sible means  could  I  discover  for  procuring  myself  a  seat, 
and  this  I  have  since  regarded  as  providential ;  for,  had  I 
been  a  little  more  at  my  ease,  the  fatigue  I  had  undergone, 
the  profound  silence  all  around  me,  the  heaviness  of  soli- 
tude, and  the  vast  monotony  of  the  view,  joined  to  the 


1817.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  495 

necessity  of  remaining  motionless,  must  inevitably  have 
invited  sleep.  I  should  then  have  lost  my  balance,  and 
my  waking  start  must  have  plunged  me  into  the  sea.  I 
have  reason,  therefore,  to  bless  the  various  torments  which 
saved  me  from  any  possibility  of  drowsiness. 

With  my  bag  of  curiosities  I  made  a  cushion  for  Diane, 
which,  however  little  luxurious,  was  softness  itself  com- 
pared with  her  then  resting-place.  She,  also,  could  take 
no  repose,  but  from  this  period  I  made  her  tolerably  happy, 
by  caresses  and  continual  attentions. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  beams  of  the  sun  vanished  from 
the  broad  horizon,  than  a  small  gentle  rain  began  to  fall, 
and  the  light  as  well  as  brightness  of  the  day  became  ob- 
scured by  darkling  clouds. 

This  greatly  alarmed  me,  in  defiance  of  my  joy  and  my 
philosophy ;  for  I  dreaded  being  surprised  by  the  night  in 
this  isolated  situation.  I  was  supported,  however,  by  per- 
ceiving that  the  sea  was  clearly  retrograding,  and  behold- 
ing, little  by  little,  the  dry  ground  across  the  higher 
extremity  of  my  apartment.  How  did  I  bless  the  sight ! 
the  sands  and  clods  of  sea-raire  were  more  beautiful  to  my 
eyes  than  the  rarest  mosaic  pavement  of  antiquity.  Never- 
theless, the  return  was  so  gradual,  that  I  foresaw  I  had  still 
many  hours  to  remain  a  prisoner. 

The  night  came  on  —  there  was  no  moon ;  but  the  sea, 
by  its  extreme  whiteness,  afforded  some  degree  of  pale 
light,  when  suddenly  I  thought  I  perceived  something  in 
the  air.  Affrighted,  I  looked  around  me,  but  nothing  was 
visible ;  yet  in  another  moment  something  like  a  shadow 
flitted  before  my  eyes.  I  tried  to  fix  it,  but  could  not 
develop  any  form ;  something  black  was  all  I  could 
make  out ;  it  seemed  in  quick  motion,  for  I  caught  and 
lost  it  alternately,  as  if  it  was  a  shadow  reflected  by  the 
waters. 


496  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS 


[1817. 


I  looked  up  at  Capstan  :  nothing  was  there,  but  the  now 
hardly  discernible  iron  salmon.  I  then  looked  at  the  op- 
posite side  .  .  .  ah,  gracious  Heaven,  what  were  my  sensa- 
tions to  perceive  two  human  figures !  Small  they  looked, 
as  in  a  picture,  from  their  distance,  the  height  of  the  rock, 
and  the  obscurity  of  the  night ;  but  not  less  certainly  from 
their  outline,  human  figures.  I  trembled  —  I  could  not 
breathe —  in  another  minute  I  was  espied,  for  a  voice  loud, 
but  unknown  to  my  ears,  called  out  "  Holloa  ! "  I  unhesi- 
tatingly answered,  "  I  am  safe  ! "  "  Thank  God  !  "  was  the 
eager  reply,  in  a  voice  hardly  articulate,  "  Oh,  thank  God  !" 
but  not  in  a  voice  unknown  thou<?h  convulsed  with  a^ita- 
tion  —  it  was  the  voice  of  my  dear  son  !  Oh  what  a  quick 
transition  from  every  direful  apprehension  to  joy  and  de- 
light!  yet  knowing  his  precipitancy,  and  fearing  a  rash 
descent  to  join  me,  in  ignorance  of  the  steepness  and  dan- 
gers of  the  precipice  which  parted  us,  I  called  out  with  all 
the  energy  in  my  power  to  conjure  him  to  await  patiently, 
as  I  would  myself,  the  entire  going  down  of  the  tide.  He 
readily  gave  me  this  promise,  though  still  in  sounds  almost 
inarticulate.  I  was  then  indeed  in  heaven  while  upon 
earth. 

Another  form  then  appeared,  Mdiile  Alex,  and  the  first 
companion  retired.  This  form,  from  a  gleam  of  light  on 
her  dress,  I  soon  saw  to  be, female.  She  called  out  to  me 
that  Mr.  Alexander  and  his  friend  were  gone  to  call  for  a 
boat  to  come  round  for  me  by  sea.  The  very  thought 
made  me  shudder,  acquainted  as  I  now  was  with  the  na- 
ture of  my  recess,  where,  though  the  remaining  sea  looked 
as  smooth  as  the  waters  of  a  lake,  I  well  knew  it  was  but 
a  surface  covering  pointed  fragments  of  rock,  against  which 
a  boat  must  have  been  overset  or  stranded.  Loudly,  there- 
fore, as  I  could  raise  my  voice,  I  called  upon  my  informant 
to  fly  after  them,  and  say  I  was  decided  to  wait  till  the 


1817.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  497 

tide  was  down.     She  replied  that  she  would  not  leave  me 
alone  for  the  world. 

The  youths,  however,  soon  returned  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  accompanied  by  a  mariner,  who  had  dissuaded 
them  from  their  dangerous  enterprise.  I  cheerfully  re- 
peated that  I  was  safe,  and  begged  reciprocated  patience. 

They  now  wandered  about  on  the  heights,  one  of  them 
always  keeping  in  view.  Meanwhile,  I  had  now  the  pleas- 
ure to  descend  to  the  sort  of  halfway-house  which  I  had 
first  hoped  would  serve  for  my  refuge.  The  difficulty  was 
by  no  means  so  arduous  to  come  down  as  to  mount,  espe- 
cially as,  the  waters  being  no  longer  so  high  as  my  rock, 
there  was  no  apprehension  of  destruction  should  my  foot- 
ing fail  me. 

Encouraged  by  this  exploit,  Diane  contrived  to  get  down 
entirely  to  the  bottom ;  but  tliough  she  found  not  there  the 
sea,  the  sands  were  so  wet  that  she  hastily  climbed  to  re- 
join me. 

Some  time  after  I  descried  a  fourth  figure  on  the  sum- 
mit, bearing  a  lantern.  This  greatly  rejoiced  me,  for  the 
twilight  was  now  grown  so  obscure  that  I  had  felt  much 
troubled  how  I  might  at  last  grope  my  way  in  the  dark  out 
of  this  terrible  Wildersmouth. 

They  all  now,  from  the  distance  and  the  dimness,  looked 
like  spectres:  we  spoke  no  more,  the  effort  being  extremely 
fatiguing.  I  observed,  however,  with  great  satisfaction,  an 
increase  of  figures,  so  that  the  border  of  the  precipice 
seemed  covered  with  people.  This  assurance  that,  if  any 
accident  happened,  there  would  be  succor  at  hand,  relieved 
many  a  fresh  starting  anxiety. 

Not  long  after,  the  sea  wholly  disappeared,  and  the  man 

with  the  lantern,  who  was  an  old  sailor,   descended  the 

precipice  on  the  further  part,  by  a  way  known  to  him ; 

and,  placing  the  lantern  where  it  might  give  him  light,  yet 

VOL.  ir.  32 


498  DIARY   AND  LETTERS  [1817. 

allow  him  the  help  of  both  his  hands,  he  was  coming  to 
me  almost  on  all  fours ;  when  Diane  leaped  to  the  bottom 
of  the  rock,  and  began  a  barking  so  loud  and  violent  that 
the  seaman  stopped  short,  and  I  had  the  utmost  difficulty 
to  appease  my  little  dog,  and  prevail  with  her,  between 
threats  and  cajolements,  to  suffer  his  approach. 

He  then  brought  me  a  coat  from  my  son.  It  rained  in- 
cessantly. 

"  Is  it  his  own  ? "  I  cried. 

"Yes." 

"  Take  it  then  back,  and  entreat  him  to  put  it  on.  The 
wind  is  abated,  and  I  can  hold  my  parasol."  I  would  take 
to  this  no  denial ;  and  my  son's  companion,  Mr.  Le  Fevre, 
as  I  afterwards  heard,  sent  then  to  the  house  for  another. 

For  this,  however,  we  waited  not;  my  son  no  sooner 
perceived  that  the  seaman  had  found  footing,  though  all 
was  still  too  watery  and  unstable  for  me  to  quit  my  rock, 
than  he  darted  forward  by  the  way  thus  pointed  out,  and 
clambering,  or  rather  leaping  up  to  me,  he  was  presently 
in  my  arms.  Neither  of  us  could  think  or  care  about  the 
surrounding  spectators — we  seemed  restored  to  each  other, 
almost  miraculously,  from  destruction  and  death.  Neither 
of  us  could  utter  a  word ;  but  both,  I  doubt  not,  were 
equally  occupied  in  returning  the  most  ardent  thanks  to 
Heaven. 

Alexander  had  run  wildly  about  in  every  direction  ; 
visited  hill,  dale,  cliff,  bye-paths,  and  public  roads  to 
make  and  instigate  inquiry  —  but  of  the  Wildersmouth  he 
thought  not,  and  never,  I  believe,  had  heard  ;  and  as  it 
was  then  a  mere  part  of  the  sea,  from  the  height  of  the 
tide,  the  notion  or  remembrance  of  it  occurred  to  no  one. 
Mr.  Jacob,  his  cool-headed  and  excellent-hearted  friend, 
was  most  unfortunately  at  Barnstaple ;  but  he  at  length 
thought  of  Mr.  John  Le  Fevre,  a  young  man  who  was  emi- 


1817.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  499 

nently  at  the  head  of  the  Ilfracombe  students,  and  had 
resisted  going  to  the  ball  at  Barnstaple,  not  to  lose  an  hour 
of  his  time.  Kecollecting  this,  Alex,  went  to  his  dwelling, 
and  bursting  into  his  apartment,  called  out,  "  My  mother 
is  missing  !  " 

The  generous  youth,  seeing  the  tumult  of  soul  in  which 
he  was  addressed,  shut  up  his  bureau  without  a  word,  and 
hurried  off  with  his  distressed  comrade,  giving  up  for  that 
benevolent  purpose  the  precious  time  he  had  refused  him- 
self to  spare  for  a  moment's  recreation. 

Fortunately,  providentially,  Mr.  Le  Fevre  recollected 
Wildersmouth,  and  that  one  of  his  friends  had  narrowly 
escaped  destruction  by  a  surprise  there  of  the  sea.  He  no 
sooner  named  this,  than  he  and  Alexander  contrived  to 
climb  up  the  rock  opposite  to  Capstan,  whence  they  looked 
down  upon  my  recess.  At  first  they  could  discern  nothing, 
save  one  small  rock  uncovered  by  the  sea :  but  at  length, 
as  my  head  moved,  Le  Fevre  saw  something  like  a  shadow 
—  he  then  called  out,  "  Holloa !  "  &c. 

To  Mr.  Le  Fevre,  therefore,  I  probably  owe  my  life. 

Two  days  after,  I  visited  the  spot  of  my  captivity,  but  it 
had  entirely  changed  its  appearance.  A  storm  of  equinoc- 
tial violence  had  broken  off  its  pyramidal  height,  and  the 
drift  of  sand  and  gravel,  and  fragments  of  rocks,  had  given 
a  new  face  to  the  whole  recess.  I  sent  for  the  seaman  to 
ascertain  the  very  spot :  this  he  did ;  but  told  me  that 
a  similar  change  took  place  commonly  twice  a  year ;  and 
added,  very  calmly,  that  two  days  later  I  could  not  have 
been  saved  from  the  waves. 


Madame  d^ Arblay  to  Alex.  d^Arhlay,  Esq. 

Bath,  November  9,  1817. 

We  have  here  spent  nearly  a  week  in  a  manner  the  most 
extraordinary,  beginning  with  hope  and  pleasure,  proceed- 


500  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1817. 

ing  to  fear  and  pain,  and  ending  in  disappointment  and 
grief. 

The  joy  exhibited  on  Monday,  when  her  Majesty  and 
her  Eoyal  Highness  arrived,  was  really  ecstatic ;  the  illu- 
mination was  universal.  The  public  offices  were  splendid ; 
so  were  the  tradespeople's  who  had  promises  or  hopes  of 
employment ;  the  nobles  and  gentles  were  modestly  gay, 
and  the  poor  eagerly  put  forth  their  mite.  But  all  was 
flattering,  because  voluntary.'  Nothing  was  induced  by 
power,  or  forced  by  mobs.  All  was  left  to  individual 
choice.  Your  padre  and  I  patrolled  the  principal  streets, 
and  were  quite  touched  by  the  universality  of  the  homage 
paid  to  the  virtues  and  merit  of  our  venerable  Queen,  upon 
this  her  first  progress  through  any  part  of  her  domains  by 
herself.  Hitherto  she  has  only  accompanied  the  poor 
King,  as  at  "Weymouth  and  Cheltenham,  Worcester  and 
Exeter,  Plymouth  and  Portsmouth,  &c. ;  or  the  Prince 
Kegent,  as  at  Brighthelmstone.  But  here,  called  by  her 
health,  she  came  as  principal,  and  in  her  own  character 
of  rank  and  consequence.  And,  as  Mr.  Hay  told  me,  the 
inhabitants  of  Bath  were  all  even  vehement  to  let  her  see 
the  light  in  which  they  held  her  individual  self,  after  so 
many  years  witnessing  her  exemplary  conduct  and  dis- 
tinguished merit. 

She  was  very  sensible  to  this  tribute ;  but  much  affected, 
nay,  dejected,  in  receiving  it,  at  the  beginning  ;  from  coming 
without  the  King  where  the  poor  King  had  always  meant 
himself  to  bring  her  ;  but  just  as  he  had  arranged  for  the 
excursion,  and  even  had  three  houses  taken  for  him  in  the 
Eoyal  Crescent,  he  was  afflicted  by  blindness.  He  would 
not  then  come ;  for  what,  he  said,  was  a  beautiful  city  to 
him  who  could  not  look  at  it  ?  This  was  continually  in 
the  remembrance  of  the  Queen  during  the  honors  of  her  re- 
ception ;  but  she  had  recovered  from  the  melancholy  recol- 


1817.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  501 

lection,  and  was  cheering  herself  by  the  cheers  of  all  the 
inhabitants,  when  the  first  news  arrived  of  the  illness  of 
the  Princess  Charlotte.  At  that  moment  she  was  having 
her  diamonds  placed  on  her  head  for  the  reception  of  the 
mayor  and  corporation  of  Bath,  with  an  address  upon 
the  honor  done  to  their  city,  and  upon  their  hopes  from 
the  salutary  spring  slie  came  to  quaff.  Her  first  thought 
was  to  issue  orders  for  deferring  this  ceremony ;  but  when 
she  considered  that  all  the  members  of  the  municipality 
must  be  assembled,  and  that  the  great  dinner  they  had  pre- 
pared to  give  to  the  Duke  of  Clarence  could  only  be  post- 
poned at  an  enormous  and  useless  expense,  she  composed 
her  spirits,  finished  her  regal  decorations,  and  admitted  the 
citizens  of  Bath,  who  were  highly  gratified  by  her  conde- 
scension, and  struck  by  her  splendor,  which  was  the  same 
as  she  appeared  in  on  the  greatest  occasions  in  the  capital. 
The  Princess  Elizabeth  was  also  a  blaze  of  jewels.  And 
our  good  little  mayor  (not  four  feet  high)  and  aldermen 
and  common  councilmen  were  all  transported.  The  Duke 
of  Clarence  accepted  their  invitation,  and  was  joined  by 
the  Marquis  of  Bath  and  all  the  Queen's  suite.  But  the 
dinner  was  broken  up.  The  Duke  received  an  express 
with  the  terrible  tidings :  he  rose  from  table,  and  struck 
his  forehead  as  he  read  them,  and  then  hurried  out  of  the 
assembly  with  inexpressible  trepidation  and  dismay.  The 
Queen  also  was  at  table  when  the  same  express  arrived, 
though  only  with  the  Princess  and  her  own  party :  all  were 
dispersed  in  a  moment,  and  she  shut  herself  up,  admitting 
no  one  but  her  Eoyal  Highness.  She  would  have  left 
Bath  the  next  morning  ;  but  her  physician.  Sir  Henry  Hal- 
ford,  said  it  would  be  extremely  dangerous  that  she  should 
travel  so  far,  in  her  state  of  health,  just  in  the  first  per- 
turbation of  affliction.  She  would  see  no  one  but  her  im- 
mediate suite  all  day,  and  set  out  the  next  for  Windsor 


502  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1817. 

Castle,  to  spend  the  time  previous  to  the  last  melancholy- 
rites  in  the  bosom  of  her  family.  All  Bath  wore  a  face  of 
mourning.  The  transition  from  gaiety  and  exultation  was 
really  awful.  What  an  extinction  of  youth  and  happiness  ! 
The  poor  Princess  Charlotte  had  never  known  a  moment's 
suffering  since  her  marriage.  Her  lot  seemed  perfect. 
Prince  Leopold  is,  indeed,  to  be  pitied.  I  have  left  no 
room  for  your  padre  ;  but  the  turn  was  fairly  mine  ;  and 
both  are  so  delighted  with  your  new  spirit  of  correspon- 
dence, that  whichever  holds  the  pen,  the  heart  of  both 
writes  in  truest  affection  to  the  dearest  of  sons. 


Madame  d^Arblay  to  Mrs.  Broome. 

Bath,  November  25,  1817. 

We  are  all  here  impressed  with  the  misfortunes  of  the 
Royal  house,  and  chiefly  with  the  deadly  blow  inflicted 
on  the  perfect  conjugal  happiness  of  the  first  young  couple 
in  the  kingdom.  The  first  couple  not  young  had  already 
received  a  blow  yet,  perhaps,  more  frightful :  for  to  have, 
yet  lose  —  to  keep,  yet  never  enjoy,  the  being  we  most 
prize,  is  surely  yet  more  torturing  than  to  yield  at  once 
to  the  stroke  which  we  know  awaits  us,  and  by  which, 
at  last,  we  must  necessarily  and  indispensably  fall.  The 
Queen  supports  herself  with  the  calm  and  serenity  belong- 
ing to  one  inured  to  misfortune,  and  submissive  to  Provi- 
dence. The  Princess  Elizabeth  has  native  spirits  that 
resist  all  woe  after  the  first  shock,  though  she  is  full  of 
kindness,  goodness,  and  zeal  for  right  action.  The  Duke 
of  Clarence  was  strongly  and  feelingly  affected  by  the  sud- 
den and  unexpected  disaster,  and  he  looks  much  changed 
by  all  he  has  gone  through  in  the  solemn  ceremonies 
of  the  interment.     All  is  so  altered  from  the  gay,  bril- 


1818.]  OF   MADAME  D'AKBLAY.  503 

liant  scene  with  which  this  Bath  excursion  had  opened, 
that  the  meanest  person  and  most  uneducated  character 
reads  a  moral  in  the  vicissitude  that  requires  no  com- 
mentary. 

Daily  I  go  with  my  respectful  and  most  warm  inquiries 
to  Sydney  Place,  to  know  how  the  Bath  beverage  agi-ees 
with  lier  Majesty,  whose  weakened  and  disordered  stomach 
terribly  wants  ameliorating.  We  are  flattered  with  the 
hope  that  the  progress  is  all  on  the  right  side,  though  slow. 
But  she  looks  better,  and  is  much  more  like  her  native  self, 
than  upon  her  second  arrival.  The  Princess,  the  dear, 
sweet,  and  accomplished  Princess  Elizabeth,  is  visibly  bet- 
ter for  bathing  in  the  Bath  waters ;  and  I  sometimes  per- 
mit myself  to  hope  they  may  sufficiently  profit  from  these 
springs  to  be  tempted  to  return  to  them  another  year.  I 
have  just  read  a  letter  from  Miss  Knight,  dated  Rome,  in 
which  she  mentions,  with  great  regard  and  intimacy,  Mr. 
Mathias,  and  speaks  of  him  as  belonging  to  her  select 
society,  without  any  reference  to  the  alarming  stroke  and 
attack  which  preceded  his  journey,  and  simply  as  one  who 
enlivens  the  Italian  coterie.  How  delightful  is  such  a 
recovery  1 


From  Mrs.  Piozzi  to  Madame  d'Arblay. 

Bath,  Thursday,  February  26,  1818. 

My  dear  Madam,  —  I  had  company  in  the  room  when 

Lady  K 's  note  arrived,  desiring  I  would  send  you 

some  papers  of  hers  by  the  person  who  should  bring  it. 
I  had  offered  a  conveyance  to  London  by  some  friends  of 
my  own,  but  she  prefen-ed  their  passing  through  your 
hands.  Accept  my  truest  wishes  for  the  restoration  of 
complete  peace  to  a  mind  which  has  been  so  long  and  so 


504  DIAEY   AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

justly  admired,  loved,  and  praised  by,  dear  Madam,  your 
ever  faitliful,  H.  L.  P. 

Wlio  attends  the  General  ?  and  why  do  you  think  him 
so  very  bad  ? 


Madame  d^Arblay  to  Mrs.  Piozzi. 

Bath,  February  26,  1818. 

There  is  no  situation  in  which  a  kind  remembrance  from 
j'^ou,  my  dear  Madam,  would  not  awaken  me  to  some  plea- 
sure ;  but  my  poor  sufferer  was  so  very  ill  when  your  note 
came,  that  it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  answer  it.  That 
I  think  him  so  very  had,  is  that  I  see  him  perpetually  in 
pain  nearly  insupportable  ;  yet  I  am  assured  it  is  local, 
and  unattended  with  danger  while  followed  up  with  con- 
stant care  and  caution.  This  supports  my  spirits,  which 
bear  me  and  enable  me  to  help  him  through  a  malady  of 
anguish  and  difficulty.  It  is  a  year  this  very  month  since 
he  has  been  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hay  as  a  regular  patient. 
Mr.  Hay  was  recommended  to  us  by  Mrs.  Locke  and  Mrs. 
Angerstein,  whom  he  attends  as  physician,  from  their  high 
opinion  of  his  skill  and  discernment.  But,  alas !  all  has 
failed  here ;  and  we  have  called  in  Mr.  Tudor,  as  the  case 
terminates  in  being  one  that  demands  a  surgeon.  Mr. 
Tudor  gives  me  every  comfort  in  prospect,  but  prepares  me 
for  long  suffering,  and  slow,  slow  recovery. 

Shall  I  apologize  for  this  wordy  explanation  ?  No  ;  you 
will  see  by  it  with  what  readiness  I  am  happy  to  believe 
that  our  interest  in  each  other  must  ever  be  reciprocal. 

Lady   K by  no  means   intended  to  give  me   the 

charge  of  the  papers ;  she  only  thought  they  might  procure 
some  passing  amusement  to  my  invalid.  I  must,  on  the 
contrary,  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  return  them  you. 


1819.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  505 

in  a  few  days,  for  such  conveyance  as  you  may  deem  safe : 
I  am  now  out  of  the  way  of  seeking  any. 

Believe  me,  dear   Madam,  with   unalterable  affection, 
your  ever  obliged  and  obedient,  F.  d'Arblay. 

I  hope  you  were  a  little  glad  that  ray  son  has  been 
among  the  high  wranglers. 


Narrative  of  the  Illness  and  Death  of  General  d'Arblay. 

Bolton  Street,  Berkeley  Square,  November  17,  1819. 

It  is  now  the  17th  of  November,  1819.  A  year  and  a 
half  have  passed  since  I  was  blessed  with  the  sight  of  my 
beloved  husband.  I  can  devise  no  means  to  soothe  my 
lonely  woe  so  likely  of  success  as  devoting  my  evening 
solitude  to  recollections  of  his  excellences,  and  of  every 
occurrence  of  his  latter  days,  till  I  bring  myself  up  to  the 
radiant  serenity  of  their  end.  I  think  it  will  be  like  pass- 
ing with  him,  with  him  himself,  a  few  poor  fleeting  but  dear- 
ly-cherished moments.  I  will  call  back  the  history  of  my 
beloved  husband's  last  illness.  Ever  present  as  it  is  to 
me,  it  will  be  a  relief  to  set  it  down. 

In  Paris,  in  the  autumn  of  1817,  he  was  first  attacked 
with  the  deadly  evil  by  which  he  was  finally  consumed. 
I  suspected  not  his  danger.  He  had  left  me  in  June,  in 
the  happy  but  most  delusive  persuasion  that  the  journey 
and  his  native  air  would  complete  his  recovery  from  the 
jaundice,  which  had  attacked  him  in  February,  1817.  Far 
from  ameliorating,  his  health  went  on  daily  declining.  His 
letters,  which  at  first  were  the  delight  and  support  of  my 
existence,  became  disappointing,  dejecting,  afflicting.  I 
sighed  for  his  return !  I  believed  he  was  trying  experi- 
ments that  hindered  his  recovery ;  and,  indeed,  I  am  per- 
suaded he  precipitated  the  evil  by  continual  changes  of 
system.     At  length  his  letters  became  so  comfortless,  that 


506  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1819. 

I  almost  expired  with  desire  to  join  him  ;  but  he  positively 
forbade  my  quitting  our  Alexander,  who  was  preparing  for 
his  grand  examination  at  Cambridge. 

On  the  opening  of  Octobei',  1817,  Alex,  and  I  returned 
from  Ilfracombe  to  Bath  to  meet  our  best  friend.  He  ar- 
rived soon  after,  attended  by  his  favorite  medical  man,  Mr. 
Hay,  whom  he  had  met  in  Paris.  We  found  him  extremely 
altered  —  not  in  mind,  temper,  faculties  —  oh,  no  !  but  in 
looks  and  strength  :  thin  and  weakened  so  as  to  be  fatigued 
by  the  smallest  exertion.  He  tried,  however,  to  revive ; 
we  sought  to  renew  our  walks,  but  his  strength  was  insuf- 
ficient. He  purchased  a  garden  in  the  Crescent  Fields, 
and  worked  in  it,  but  came  home  always  the  worse  for  the 
effort.  His  spirits  were  no  longer  in  their  state  of  native, 
genial  cheerfulness  :  he  could  still  be  awakened  to  gaiety, 
but  gaiety  was  no  longer  innate,  instinctive  with  him. 

In  this  month,  October,  1817,  I  had  a  letter  from  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  to  inform  me  that  Her  Majesty  and 
herself  were  coming  to  pass  four  weeks  in  Bath. 

The  Queen's  stay  was  short,  abruptly  and  sadly  broken 
up  by  the  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte.  In  twenty- 
four  hours  after  the  evil  tidings,  they  hastened  to  Windsor 
to  meet  the  Prince  Regent ;  and  almost  immediately  after 
the  funeral,  the  Queen  and  Princess  returned,  accompanied 
by  the  Duke  of  Clarence.  I  saw  them  continually,  and 
never  passed  a  day  without  calling  at  the  Royal  abode  b}' 
the  Queen's  express  permission ;  and  during  the  whole 
period  of  their  stay,  my  invalid  appeared  to  be  stationary 
in  his  health.  I  never  quitted  him  save  for  this  Royal 
visit,  and  that  only  of  a  morning. 

He  had  always  purposed  being  presented  to  Her  Majesty 
in  the  pump-room,  and  the  Queen  herself  deigned  to  say 
"  she  should  be  very  glad  to  see  the  General."  Ill  he  was  ! 
suffering,  emaciated,  enfeeblecj  !     But  he  h^d  always  spirit 


1819.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  507 

awake  to  every  call;  and  just  before  Christmas,  1817,  we 
went  together,  between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  in  chairs,  to  the  pump-room. 

I  thought  I  had  never  seen  him  look  to  such  advantage. 
His  fine  brow  so  open,  his  noble  countenance  so  expressive, 
his  features  so  formed  for  a  painter's  pencil !  This,  too,  was 
the  last  time  he  ever  wore  his  military  honors  —  his  three 
orders  of  "  St.  Louis,"  "  The  Legion  of  Honor,"  and  "  Du 
Lys,"  or  "  De  la  Fidelity  ; "  decorations  which  singularly  be- 
came him,  from  his  strikingly  martial  port  and  character. 

The  Queen  was  brought  to  the  circle  in  her  sedan-chair, 
and  led  to  the  seat  prepared  for  her  by  her  vice-chamber- 
lain, making  a  gracious  general  bow  to  the  assembly  as  she 
passed.  Dr.  Gibbs  and  Mr.  Tudor  waited  upon  her  with 
the  Bath  water,  and  she  conversed  with  them,  and  the 
mayor  and  aldermen,  and  her  own  people,  for  some  time. 
After  this  she  rose  to  make  her  round  with  a  grace  indescri- 
bable, and,  to  those  who  never  witnessed  it,  inconceivable ; 
for  it  was  such  as  to  carry  off  age,  infirmity,  sickness, 
diminutive  stature  —  and  to  give  her,  in  defiance  of  such 
disadvantages,  a  power  of  charming  that  rarely  has  been 
equalled.  Her  face  had  a  variety  of  expression  that  made 
her  features  soon  seem  agreeable ;  the  intonations  of  her 
voice  so  accorded  with  her  words ;  her  language  was  so 
impressive,  and  her  manner  so  engaging  and  encouraging^ 
that  it  was  not  possible  to  be  the  object  of  her  attention 
without  being  both  struck  with  her  uncommon  abilities 
and  fascinated  by  their  exertion.  Such  was  the  effect 
which  she  produced  upon  General  d'Arblay,  to  whom  she 
soon  turned.  Highly  sensible  to  the  honor  of  her  distinc- 
tion, he  forgot  his  pains  in  his  desire  to  manifest  his  grat- 
itude ;  —  and  his  own  smiles  —  how  winning  they  became  ! 
Her  Majesty  spoke  of  Bath,  of  Windsor,  of  the  Continent ; 
and  while  addressing  him,  her  eyes  turned  to  meet  mine 


508  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

with  a  look  that  said,  "  Now  I  know  I  am  making  you 
happy  ! "  She  asked  me,  archly,  whether  I  was  not  fatigued 
by  coming  to  the  pump-room  so  early  ?  and  said  "  Madame 
d'Arblay  thinks  I  have  never  seen  you  before !  but  she  is 
mistaken,  for  I  peeped  at  you  through  the  window  as  you 
passed  to  the  terrace  at  Windsor."  Alas !  the  Queen  no 
sooner  ceased  to  address  him  than  the  pains  he  had  sup- 
pressed became  intolerable,  and  he  retreated  from  the  circle 
and  sunk  upon  a  bench  near  the  wall;  he  could  stand  no 
longer,  and  we  returned  home  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day 
in  bodily  misery. 

Very  soon  after  the  opening  of  this  fatal  year  1818,  ex- 
pressions dropped  from  my  beloved  of  his  belief  of  his 
approaching  end :  they  would  have  broken  my  heart,  had 
not  an  incredulity,  —  now  my  eternal  wonder  !  —  kept 
me  in  a  constant  persuasion  that  he  was  hypochondriac, 
and  tormented  with  false  apprehensions.  Fortunate,  mer- 
ciful, as  wonderful  was  that  incredulity,  which,  blind- 
ing me  to  my  coming  woe,  enabled  me  to  support  my  cour- 
age by  my  hopes,  and  helped  me  to  sustain  his  own.  In 
his  occasional  mournful  prophecies,  which  I  always  rallied 
off  and  refused  to  listen  to,  he  uttered  frequently  the  kind 
words,  "  Et  jamais  je  n'ai  tant  aim^  la  vie  !  Jamais,  jamais, 
la  vie  ne  m'a  ^te  plus  chere  ! "  How  sweet  to  me  were 
those  words,  which  I  thought  —  alas,  how  delusively  !  — 
would  soothe  and  invigorate  recovery  ! 

The  vivacity  with  which  I  exerted  all  the  means  in  my 
power  to  fly  from  every  evil  prognostic,  he  was  often  struck 
with,  and  never  angrily ;  on  the  contrary,  he  would  ex- 
claim, "  Comme  j 'admire  ton  courage  !  "  while  his  own,  on 
the  observation,  always  revived.  "  My  courage  ? "  I  always 
answered,  "  what  courage  ?  Am  I  not  doing  what  I  most 
desire  upon  earth  —  remaining  by  your  side  ?  When  you 
are  not  well,  the  whole  universe  is  to  me  there  ! " 


1818.]  OF   MADAME   D'AKBLAY.  609 

Soon  after,  nevertheless,  recurring  to  the  mournful  idea 
ever  uppermost,  he  said,  with  a  serenity  the  most  beauti- 
ful, "  Je  voudrais  que  nous  causassions  sur  tout  cela  avec 
calme,  —  doucement,  —  cheerfully  m^me,  as  of  a  future 
voyage  —  as  of  a  subject  of  discussion  —  simply  to  ex- 
change our  ideas  and  talk  them  over." 

Alas,  alas  !  how  do  I  now  regret  that  I  seconded  not  this 
project,  so  fitted  for  all  pious  Christian  minds,  whether 
their  pilgrimage  be  of  shorter  or  longer  duration  !  But  I 
saw  him  ill,  oh,  how  ill !  I  felt  myself  well ;  it  was,  there- 
fore, apparent  who  must  be  the  survivor  in  case  of  sunder- 
ment ;  and,  therefore,  all  power  of  generalizing  the  subject 
was  over.  And  much  and  ardently  as  I  should  have  re- 
joiced in  treating  such  a  theme  when  he  was  well,  or  on 
his  recovery,  I  had  no  power  to  sustain  it  thus  situated. 
I  could  only  attend  his  sick  couch  ;  I  could  only  live  by 
fostering  hopes  of  his  revival,  and  seeking  to  make  them 
reciprocal. 

During  this  interval  a  letter  from  my  affectionate  sister 
Charlotte  suggested  our  taking  further  advice  to  aid  Mr. 
Hay,  since  the  malady  was  so  unyielding. 

On  January  the  24th  Mr.  Tudor  came,  but  after  an  inter- 
view and  examination,  his  looks  were  even  forbidding.  Mr. 
Hay  had  lost  his  air  of  satisfaction  and  complacency ;  Mr. 
Tudor  merely  inquired  whether  he  should  came  again  ? 
"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes ! "  I  cried,  and  they  retired  together. 
And  rapidly  I  flew,  not  alone  from  hearing,  but  from  form- 
ing any  opinion,  and  took  refuge  by  the  side  of  my  beloved, 
whom  I  sought  to  console  and  revive.  And  this  very 
day,  as  I  have  since  found,  he  began  his  Diary  for  the 
year.     It  contains  these  words  :  — 

"  Jamais  je  n'ai  tant  aime  la  Vie  que  je  suis  en  si  grand 
danger  de  perdre  ;  malgre  que  je  n'aie  point  de  fievre,  ni  le 
moindre  mal  k  la  tete  ;  et  que  j'aie  non  seulement  I'esprit 


510  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

libre,  mais  le  coeur  d'un  contentement  parfait.  La  vo- 
LONT^  DE  DiEU  soiT  Faite  !  J'attends  pour  ce  soir  ou 
demain  le  resultat  d'une  consultation." 

On  this  same  day  Madame  de  Soyres  brought  me  a 
packet  from  her  Majesty,  and  another  from  the  Princess 
Elizabeth.  The  kind  and  gracious  Princess  sent  me  a  pair 
of  silver  camp  candlesticks,  with  peculiar  contrivances 
which  she  wrote  me  word  might  amuse  the  General  as  a 
military  man,  while  they  might  be  employed  by  myself 
to  light  my  evening  researches  among  the  ]\ISS.  of  my  dear 
father,  which  she  wished  me  to  collect  and  to  preface  by 
a  Memoir. 

Her  mother's  offering  was  in  the  same  spirit  of  benevo- 
lence ;  it  was  a  collection  of  all  the  volumes  of  "  L'Her- 
mite  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin,"  with  Chalmers'  Astronomi- 
cal Sermons,  and  Drake's  two  quartos  on  Shakespeare  ; 
joined  to  a  small  work  of  deeper  personal  interest  to  me 
than  them  all,  which  was  a  book  of  prayers  suited  to 
various  circumstances,  and  printed  at  Her  Majesty's  own 
press  at  Frogmore.  In  this  she  had  condescended  to  write 
my  name,  accompanied  by  words  of  peculiar  kindness. 
My  poor  Ami  looked  over  every  title-page  with  delight, 
feeling  as  I  did  myself  that  the  gift  was  still  more  meant 
for  him  than  for  me  —  or  rather,  doubly,  trebly  for  me  in 
being  calculated  to  be  pleasing  to  him !  —  he  was  to  me 
the  soul  of  all  pleasure  on  earth. 

What  words  of  kindness  do  I  find,  and  now  for  the  first 
time  read,  in  his  Diary  dated  2nd  February  !  After  speak- 
ing —  h^las,  h^las  !  — " de  ses  doulcurs  inoiiies"  he  adds, 
"  Quelle  Strange  maladie  !  et  quelle  position  que  la  mienne  ! 
il  en  est  une,  peut-etre  plus  facheuse  encore,  c'est  celle  de 
ma  malheureuse  compagne  —  avec  quelle  tendresse  elle  me 
soigne  !  et  avec  quelle  courage  elle  supporte  ce  qu'elle  a  k 
souffrir  !  Je  ne  puis  que  rep^ter,  La  Volont^  de  Dieu  soit 
faite  ! " 


1818.]  OF  MA.DAME   d'aRBLAY.  511 

Alas  !  the  last  w^ords  he  wrote  in  February  were  most 
melancholy  :  —  "20  Fevrier,  Je  sens  que  je  m'affaiblis  hor- 
ribleraent  —  je  ne  crois  pas  que  ceci  puisse  etre  encore  bien 
long.  Chere  Fanny  .  .  .  cher  Alex.  God  bless  you  !  and 
unite  us  for  ever,  Amen  ! " 

Oh  ray  beloved  !  Delight,  Pride,  and  Happiness  of  my 
heart !     May  Heaven  in  its  mercy  hear  this  prayer  ! 

In  March  he  revived  a  little,  and  Mr.  Tudor  no  longer 
denied  me  hope  ;  on  the  18th  Alex,  came  to  our  arms  and 
gratulations  on  his  fellowship :  which  gave  to  his  dearest 
father  a  deli";ht  the  most  touching. 

I  have  no  Diary  in  his  honored  hand  to  guide  my  nar- 
rative in  April ;  a  few  words  only  he  ever  wrote  more,  and 
these,  after  speaking  of  his  sufferings,  end  with  "  Pazienza  ! 
Pazienza  ! "  —  such  was  his  last  written  expression  !  'T  is 
on  the  5th  of  April 

On  the  3rd  of  May  he  reaped,  I  humbly  trust,  the  fair 
fruit  of  that  faith  and  patience  he  so  pathetically  implored 
and  so  beautifully  practised  ! 

At  this  critical  period  in  April  I  was  called  down  one 

day  to  Madame  la  Marquise  de  S ,  who  urged  me  to 

summon  a  priest  of  the  Roman  Catholic  persuasion  to  my 
precious  sufferer.  I  was  greatly  disturbed  every  way ;  I 
felt  in  shuddering  the  danger  she  apprehended,  and  resisted 
its  belief ;  yet  I  trembled  lest  I  should  be  doing  wrong.  .  .  . 
I  was  a  Protestant,  and  had  no  faith  in  confession  to  man. 
I  had  long  had  reason  to  believe  that  my  beloved  partner 
was  a  Protestant,  also,  in  his  heart ;  but  he  had  a  horror  of 
apostasy,  and  therefwe,  as  he  told  me,  would  not  investigate 
the  differences  of  the  two  religions  ;  he  had  besides  a  tie 
which  to  his  honor  and  character  was  potent  and  persua- 
sive ;  he  had  taken  an  oath  to  keep  the  Catholic  faith  when 
he  received  his  Croix  de  St.  Louis,  which  was  at  a  period 


512  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

when  the  preference  of  the  simplicity  of  Protestantism  was 
not  apparent  to  him.  All  this  made  me  personally  easy 
for  him,  yet,  as  this  was  not  known,  and  as  nothing  defini- 
tive had  ever  passed  between  us  upon  this  delicate  subject, 
I  felt  that  he  apparently  belonged  still  to  the  Eoman 
Catholic  Church ;  and  after  many  painful  struggles  I 
thought  it  my  absolute  duty  to  let  him  judge  for  himself, 
even  at  the  risk  of  inspiring  the  alarm  I  so  much  sought  to 
save  him  !  .  .  .  I  compelled  myself  therefore  to  tell  him 

the  wish  of  Madame  de  S ,  that  he  should  see  a  priest. 

"Eh  bien,"  he  cried,  gently  yet  readily,  "je  ne  m'y  oppose 
pas.  .  .  .  Qu'en  penses  tu  ? "  I  begged  to  leave  such  a 
decision  wholly  to  himself. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  heavenly  composure  with  which 
my  beloved  partner  heard  me  announce  that  the  priest, 
Dr.  Elloi,  was  come.  Cheerfully  as  I  urged  myself  to 
name  him,  still  he  could  but  regard  the  visit  as  an  invita- 
tion to  make  his  last  preparations  for  quitting  mortal  life. 
With  a  calm  the  most  gentle  and  genuine,  he  said  he  had 
better  be  left  alone  with  him,  and  they  remained  together, 
I  believe,  three  hours.  I  was  deeply  disturbed  that  my 
poor  patient  should  be  so  long  without  sustenance  or  medi- 
cine ;  but  I  durst  not  intrude,  though  anxiously  I  kept  at 
hand  in  case  of  any  sudden  summons.  When,  at  length, 
the  priest  reappeared,  I  found  my  dearest  invalid  as  placid 
as  before  this  ceremony,  though  fully  convinced  it  was 
meant  as  the  annunciation  of  his  expected  and  approach- 
ing departure. 

Dr.  Elloi  now  came  not  only  every  day,  but  almost 
every  hour  of  the  day,  to  obtain  another  interview;  but 
my  beloved,  though  pleased  that  the  meeting  had  taken 
place,  expressed  no  desire  for  its  repetition.  I  was  cruelly 
distressed ;  the  fear  of  doing  wrong  Ijas  been  always  the 
leading  principle  of  my  internal  guidance,  and  here  I  felt 


1818.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  513 

incompetent  to  judge  what  was  right.  Overpowered,  there- 
fore, by  my  own  inability  to  settle  that  point,  and  my 
terror  lest  I  should  mistake  it,  I  ceased  to  resist ;  and  Dr. 
Elloi,  while  my  patient  was  sleeping  from  opium,  glided 
into  his  chamber,  and  knelt  down  by  the  bed-side  with  his 
Prayer  Book  in  his  hand.  Two  hours  this  lasted ;  but 
when  the  doctor  informed  me  he  had  obtained  the  Gen- 
eral's promise  that  he  should  administer  to  him  the  last 
Sacrament,  the  preparations  were  made  accordingly,  and 
I  only  entreated  leave  to  be  present. 

This  solemn  communion,  at  which  I  have  never  in  our 
own  church  attended  with  unraoistened  eyes,  was  adminis- 
tered the  same  evening.  The  dear  invalid  was  in  bed ;  his 
head  raised  with  difficulty,  he  went  through  this  ceremony 
with  spirits  calm,  and  a  countenance  and  voice  of  holy 
composure. 

Thenceforth  he  talked  openly,  and  almost  solely,  of  his 
approaching  dissolution,  and  prepared  for  it  by  much  si- 
lent mental  prayer.  He  also  poured  forth  his  soul  in 
counsel  for  Alexander  and  myself  I  now  dared  no  longer 
oppose  to  him  my  hopes  of  his  recovery ;  the  season 
was  too  awful.  I  heard  him  only  with  deluges  of  long- 
restrained  tears,  and  his  generous  spirit  seemed  better  satis- 
fied in  thinking  me  now  awakened  to  a  sense  of  his  danger, 
as  preparatory  for  supporting  its  consequence. 

"  Parle  de  moi  ! "  He  said,  afterwards,  "  Parle  —  et 
souvent.     Surtout  h,  Alexandre  ;  qu'il  ne  m'oublie  pas  !  " 

"  Je  ne  parlerai  pas  d'autre  chose  ! "  I  answered  .  .  . 
and  I  felt  his  tender  purpose.  He  knew  how  I  forbore  ever 
to  speak  of  my  lost  darling  sister,  and  he  thought  the  con- 
straint injurious  both  to  my  health  and  spirits  :  he  wished 
to  change  my  mode  with  regard  to  himself  by  an  injunc- 
tion of  his  own.  "  Nous  ne  parlerons  pas  d'autre  chose  !  " 
I  added,  "  Mon  Ami  !  —  mon  Ami !  —  Je  ne  survivrai  que 
VOL.  II,  33 


614  DIARY  AXD   LETTERS  [1818. 

pour  cela ! "  He  looked  pleased,  and  with  a  calm  that 
taught  me  to  repress  my  too  great  emotion. 

He  then  asked  for  Alexander,  embraced  him  warmly, 
and  half  raising  himself  with  a  strength  that  had  seemed 
extinct  but  the  day  before,  he  took  a  hand  of  Alexander 
and  one  of  mine,  and  putting  them  together  between  both 
his  own,  he  tenderly  pressed  them,  exclaiming,  "  How 
happy  I  am  !  .  .  .  I  fear  I  am  too  happy ! "  .  .  . 

Kindest  of  human  hearts  !  His  happiness  was  in  seeing 
us  together  ere  he  left  us  ;  his  fear  was  lest  he  should  too 
keenly  regret  the  quitting  us  ! 

From  the  time  that  my  dearly  beloved  had  received  the 
last  Sacrament,  and  made  his  confession,  his  mind  was 
perfectly  at  ease  with  respect  to  all  public  offices  of  re- 
ligion ;  the  religion  of  his  heart  and  of  his  faith  was  often, 
nay,  continually,  at  work  in  prayer  and  pious  meditation. 

Dr.  Elloi,  however,  and  Madame  de  S ,  were  incessant 

in  their  demands  for  admission  and  further  ceremonies ; 
and  with  such  urgency  of  remonstrance,  that  at  length  I 
could  not  answer  to  myself  further  resistance  without  lay- 
ing the  case  once  more  before  my  poor  invalid.  This 
was  a  barbarous  task;  I  saw  him  devoutly  at  rest  with 
God  and  man,  and  I  was  miserable  lest  I  should  risk 
shaking  his  settled  spiritual  calm  ;  but  he  readily  and 
instantly  answered,  "  J'ai  requ  les  saints  sacramens  ;  je 
me  suis  confesse, — je  n'ai  rien  en  arriere  !  Ainsi  il 
me  semble  —  si  moi  j'etais  Madame  dArblay,  je  dirais 
tout  bonnement,  que  j 'avals  fait  tout  ce  que  Ton  m'avait 
demand^  d^s  le  commencement,  et  que  Ton  doit  se  con- 
tenter." 

Thus  strengthened,  I  sent  them  word  that  I  had  com- 
plied with  all  their  original  requests ;  but  that,  a  Protes- 
tant myself,  zealously  and  upon  principle,  they  must  not 
expect  me  to  make  a  persecution  for  the  performance  of  a 


1818.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  515 

Catholic  rite  that  might  impede  all  chance  of  restoration 
loy  its  appalling  solemnities. 

At  this  time  he  saw  for  a  few  minutes  my  dear  sister 
Esther  and  her  Maria,  who  had  always  been  a  great  favo- 
rite with  him.  When  they  retired,  he  called  upon  me  to 
bow  my  knees  as  he  dropped  upon  his  own,  that  he  might 
receive,  he  said,  my  benediction,  and  that  we  might  fer- 
vently and  solemnly  join  in  prayer  to  Almighty  God  for 
each  other.  He  then  consigned  himself  to  uninterrupted 
meditation ;  he  told  me  not  to  utter  one  word  to  him,  even 
of  reply,  beyond  the  most  laconic  necessity.  He  desired 
that  when  I  brought  him  his  medicine  or  nutriment,  I 
would  give  it  without  speech  and  instantly  retire  ;  and  take 
care  that  no  human  being  addressed  or  approached  him. 
This  awful  command  lasted  unbroken  during  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  the  whole  of  the  night,  and  nearly  the  follow- 
ing day.  So  concentrated  in  himself  he  desired  to  be  !  — 
yet  always  as  free  from  irritation  as  from  despondence  — 
always  gentle  and  kind,  even  when  taciturn,  and  even 
when  in  torture. 

When  the  term  of  his  meditative  seclusion  seemed  to  be 
over,  I  found  him  speaking  with  Alexander,  and  pouring 
into  the  bosom  of  his  weeping  son  the  balm  of  parental 
counsel  and  comfort.  I  received  at  this  time  a  letter  from 
my  affectionate  sister  Charlotte,  pressing  for  leave  to  come 
and  aid  me  to  nurse  my  dearest  invalid.  He  took  the 
letter  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  saying,  "  Je  I'aime  bien ; 
dis  le  lui.  Et  elle  m'aime."  But  I  felt  she  could  do  me 
no  good.  "VVe  had  a  nurse  whose  skill  made  her  services 
a  real  blessing ;  and  for  myself,  woe,  such  as  he  believed 
approaching,  surpassed  all  aid  but  from  prayer  and  from 
heaven  —  lonely  meditation. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  he  ordered  Payne  to  open 
the  shutters  and  to  undraw  the  curtains.     The  prospect 


616  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

from  the  windows  facing  his  bed  was  picturesque,  lively, 
lovely :  he  looked  at  it  with  a  bright  smile  of  admiration, 
and  cast  his  arm  over  his  noble  brow,  as  if  hailing  one 
more  return  of  day,  and  light,  and  life  with  those  he  loved. 
But  when,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  something  broke  from 

me  of  my  reverence  at  his  heavenly  resignation, "  R4~ 

signd  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  a  melancholy  half  smile ;  "  onais 
....  comme  fa  !  "  and  then  in  a  voice  of  tenderness  the 
most  touching,  he  added,  "  Te  quitter  !  "  I  dare  not,  even 
yet,  hang  upon  my  emotion  at  those  words ! 

That  night  passed  in  tolerable  tranquillity,  and  without 
alarm,  his  pulse  still  always  equal  and  good,  though 
smaller.  On  Sunday,  the  fatal  3rd  of  May,  my  patient 
was  still  cheerful,  and  slept  often,  but  not  long.  This  cir- 
cumstance was  delightful  to  my  observation,  and  kept  off 
the  least  suspicion  that  my  misery  could  be  so  near. 

My  pen  lingers  now !  —  reluctant  to  finish  the  little 
that  remains. 

About  noon,  gently  awaking  from  a  slumber,  he  called 
to  me  for  some  beverage,  but  was  weaker  than  usual,  and 
could  not  hold  the  cup.  I  moistened  his  lips  with  a  spoon 
several  times.  He  looked  at  me  with  sweetness  inexpress- 
ible, and  pathetically  said,  "  Qui  ....?"  He  stopped,  but 
I  saw  he  meant  "  Who  shall  return  this  for  you .? "  I  in- 
stantly answered  to  his  obvious  and  most  touching  mean- 
ing, by  a  cheerful  exclamation  of  "  You  !  my  dearest  Ami ! 
You  yourself !  You  shall  recover,  and  take  your  revenge." 
He  smiled,  but  shut  his  eyes  in  silence. 

Thus  ever  awake  was  his  tender  solicitude  for  me  !  — 
and  in  the  midst  of  all  his  sufferings,  his  intellects  had  a 
clearness,  nay,  a  brightness,  that  seemed  as  if  already  they 
were  refined  from  the  dross  of  worldly  imperfection. 

After  this,  he  bent  forward,  as  he  was  supported  nearly 
upright  by  pillows  in  his  bed  ....  and  taking  my  hand. 


1818.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  517 

and  holding  it  between  both  his  own,  he  impressively  said, 
"  Je  ne  sais  si  ce  sera  le  dernier  mot  .  .  .  mais  ce  sera  la 
derni^re  pensee  —  Notre  reunion  /"....  Oh,  words  the 
most  precious  that  ever  the  tenderest  of  husbands  left  for 
balm  to  the  lacerated  heart  of  a  surviving  wife !  I  fas- 
tened my  lips  on  his  loved  hands,  but  spoke  not.  It  was 
not  then  that  those  words  were  my  blessing !     They  awed 

—  they  thrilled  —  more  than  they  solaced  me.  How  little 
knew  I  then  that  he  should  speak  to  me  no  more  ! 

Towards  evening  I  sat  watching  in  my  arm-chair,  and 
Alex,  remained  constantly  with  me.  His  sleep  was  so 
calm,  that  an  hour  passed  in  which  I  indulged  the  hope 
that  a  favorable  crisis  was  arriving ;  that  a  turn  would 
take  place  by  wliich  his  vital  powers  would  be  restored 
but  ....  when  the  hour  was  succeeded  by  an- 
other hour,  when  I  saw  a  universal  stillness  in  the  whole 
frame,  such  as  seemed  to  stagnate  all  around,  I  began  to 
be  strangely  moved.  "  Alex.  ! "  I  whispered,  "  this  sleep 
is  critical !    a  crisis  arrives  !     Pray  God  —  Almighty  God  ! 

—  that  it  be  fav ."    I  could  not  proceed.    Alex,  looked 

aghast,  but  firm.  I  sent  him  to  call  Payne.  I  intimated 
to  her  my  opinion  that  this  sleep  was  important,  but  kept 
a  composure  astonishing,  for  when  no  one  would  give  me 
encouragement,  I  compelled  myself  to  appear  not  to  want 
it,  to  deter  them  from  giving  me  despair.  Another  hour 
passed  of  concentrated  feelings,  of  breathless  dread.  His 
face  had  still  its  unruffled  serenity,  but  methought  the 
hands  were  turning  cold  ;  I  covered  them ;  I  watched  over 
the  head  of  my  beloved ;  I  took  new  flannel  to  roll  over 
his  feet ;  the  stillness  grew  more  awful ;  the  skin  became 
colder. 

Alex.,  my  dear  Alex.,  proposed  calling  in  Mr.  Tudor,  and 
ran  off  for  him.  I  leant  over  him  now  with  sal  volatile  to 
his  temple,  hi^  forehead,  the  palms  of  his  hands,  but  I  had 


518  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

no  courage  to  feel  his  pulse,  to  touch  his  lips.  Mr.  Tudor 
came ;  he  put  his  hand  upon  the  heart,  the  noblest  of 
hearts,  and  pronounced  that  all  was  over  ! 

How  I  bore  this  is  still  marvellous  to  me  !  I  had  always 
believed  such  a  sentence  would  at  once  have  killed  me. 
But  his  sight  —  the  sight  of  his  stillness,  kept  me  from  dis- 
traction !  Sacred  he  appeared,  and  his  stillness  I  thought 
should  be  mine,  and  be  inviolable. 

I  suffered  certainly  a  partial  derangement,  for  I  cannot 
to  this  moment  recollect  anything  that  now  succeeded, 
with  truth  or  consistency ;  my  memory  paints  things  that 
were  necessarily  real,  joined  to  others  that  could  not  possi- 
bly have  happened,  yet  so  amalgamates  the  whole  together 
as  to  render  it  impossible  for  me  to  separate  truth  from  in- 
definable, unaccountable  fiction. 

Even  to  this  instant  I  always  see  the  room  itself  charged 
with  a  medley  of  silent  and  strange  figures  grouped  against 
the  wall  just  opposite  to  rae.  Mr.  Tudor,  methought,  was 
come  to  drag  me  by  force  away ;  and  in  this  persuasion, 
which  was  false,  I  remember  supplicating  him  to  grant  me 
but  one  hour,  telling  him  I  had  solemnly  engaged  myself 
to  pass  it  in  watching 

But  why  go  back  to  my  grief  ?  Even  yet,  at  times,  it 
seems  as  fresh  as  ever,  and  at  all  times  weighs  on  me  with 
a  feeling  that  seems  stagnating  the  springs  of  life.  But  for 
Alexander  —  our  Alexander !  —  I  think  I  could  hardly  have 
survived.  His  tender  sympathy,  with  his  claims  to  my 
love,  and  the  solemn  injunctions  given  me  to  preserve  for 
him,  and  devote  to  him,  my  remnant  of  life  —  these, 
through  the  Divine  mercy,  sustained  me. 

May  that  mercy,  with  its  best  blessings,  daily  increase 
his  resemblance  to  his  noble  father. 

March  20,  1820. 


1818.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  519 

Extracts  from  Pocket-Book  Diary. 

August  30^A.  —  The  seventeenth  week's  sun  rises  on  my 
deplorable  change  I  A  very  kind,  cordial,  brotherly  letter 
arrives  from  my  dear  James.  An  idea  of  comfort  begins 
to  steal  its  way  to  my  mind,  in  renewing  my  intercourse 
with  this  worthy  brother,  who  feels  for  me,  I  see,  with 
sincerity  and  affection. 

September  5th.  —  A  letter  from  Dowager  Lady  Harcourt, 
on  the  visibly  approaching  dissolution  of  my  dear  honored 
Eoyal  mistress  !  written  by  desire  of  my  beloved  Princess 
Mary,  Duchess  of  Gloucester,  to  save  me  the  shock  of  sur- 
prise, added  to  that  of  grief. 

Sunday,  Septernher  6th.  —  A  fresh  renewal  to  me  of  woe 
is  every  returning  week  !  The  eighteenth  this  of  the  dread 
solitude  of  my  heart ;  and  miserably  has  it  passed,  aug- 
menting sorrow  weighing  it  in  the  approaching  loss  of  my 
dear  Queen ! 

Again  I  took  the  Sacrament  at  the  Octagon,  probably 
for  the  last  time.  Oh,  how  earnest  were  my  prayers  for 
re-union  in  a  purer  world  ! 

Prayers  were  offered  for  a  person  lying  dangerously  ill. 
I  thought  of  the  Queen,  and  prayed  for  her  fervently. 

Sunday,  Septemler  Tlth.  —  This  day,  the  twenty-first 
Sunday  of  my  bereavement,  Alexander,  I  trust,  is  ordained 
a  deacon  of  the  Church  of  England.  Heaven  propitiate 
his  entrance !  I  wrote  to  the  good  Bishop  of  Salisbury  to 
beseech  his  pious  wishes  on  this  opening  of  clerical  life. 

SeptemherlWi  —  Still  my  preparations  to  depart  from 
Bath  take  up  all  of  time  that  grief  does  not  seize  irresisti- 
bly ;  for,  oh !  what  anguish  overwhelms  my  soul  in  quit- 
ting the  place  where  last  he  saw  and  blessed  me  !  —  the 
room,  the  spot  on  which  so  softly,  so  holily,  yet  so  tenderly, 
he  embraced  me,  and  breathed  his  last ! 


520  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

Wednesday,  September  oOth.  —  This  morning  I  left  Bath 
with  feelings  of  profound  affliction ;  yet,  reflecting  that 
hope  was  ever  open  —  that  future  union  may  repay  this 
laceration  —  oh,  that  my  torn  soul  could  more  look  for- 
ward with  sacred  aspiration  !  Then  better  would  it  sup- 
port its  weight  of  woe  ! 

My  dear  James  received  me  with  tender  pity ;  so  did 
his  good  wife,  son,  and  daughter. 

Thursday,  October  8th.  —  I  came  this  evening  to  my  new 
and  probably  last  dwelling.  No.  11,  Bolton-street,  Piccadilly. 
My  kind  James  conducted  me.  Oh,  how  heavy  is  my  for- 
lorn heart !  I  have  made  myself  very  busy  all  day ;  so  only 
could  I  have  supported  this  first  opening  to  my  baleful 
desolation  !  No  adored  husband  !  No  beloved  son  !  But 
the  latter  is  only  at  Cambridge.  Ah !  let  me  struggle  to 
think  more  of  the  other,  the  first,  the  chief,  as  also  only 
removed  from  my  sight  by  a  transitory  journey  ! 

Wednesday,  October  14:th.  —  Wrote  to  my  —  erst  — 
dearest  friend,  Mrs.  Piozzi.  I  can  never  forget  my  long 
love  for  her,  and  many  obligations  to  her  friendship, 
strangely  as  she  had  been  estranged  since  her  marriage. 

Friday,  October  30th.  —  A  letter  from  my  loved  Madame 
de  Maisonneuve,  full  of  feeling,  sense,  sweetness,  informa- 
tion to  beguile  me  back  to  life,  and  of  sympathy  to  open 
my  sad  heart  to  friendship. 

Saturday,  Nov.  7th.  —  A  visit  from  the  excellent  Harriet 
Bowdler,  who  gave  me  an  hour  of  precious  society,  min- 
gling her  commiserating  sympathy  with  hints  sage  and 
right  of  the  duty  of  revival  from  every  stroke  of  heaven. 

Oh,  my  God,  Saviour!  To  thee  may  I  turn  more  and 
more! 

Tuesday,  Nov.  17th.  —  This  day,  at  one  o'clock,  breathed 
her  last  the  inestimable  Queen  of  England.  Heaven  rest 
and  bless  her  soul ! 


1818.]  OF   MADAME  D'ARBLAY,  521 


Sketch  of  Qiieen   Charlotte's  Character,  from  a  Memorandum  Book  of 
Madame  d'Arblai/. 

Her  understanding  was  of  the  best  sort ;  for  while  it 
endued  her  with  powers  to  form  a  judgment  of  all  around 
lier,  it  pointed  out  to  her  the  fallibility  of  appearances,  and 
thence  kept  her  always  open  to  conviction  where  she  had 
been  led  by  circumstances  into  mistake. 

From  the  time  of  my  first  entrance  into  her  household, 
her  manner  to  me  was  most  kind  and  encouraging,  for  she 
had  formed  her  previous  opinion  from  the  partial  accounts 
of  my  beloved  Mrs.  Delany.  She  saw  that,  impressed  with 
real  respect  for  her  character,  and  never-failing  remem- 
brance of  her  rank,  she  might  honor  me  with  confidence 
without  an  apprehension  of  imprudence,  invite  openness 
without  incurring  freedom,  and  manifest  kindness  without 
danger  of  encroachment. 

If  Mrs.  Delany's  goodness  made  her  trust  me,  my  own 
interior  view  of  her  made  the  trust  reciprocal,  for  I  had 
the  firmest  reliance,  not  alone  on  her  prudence,  but  on  her 
honor,  which  was  so  inviolate,  it  might  justly  be  called 
religious. 

When  I  was  alone  with  her  she  discarded  all  royal  con- 
straint, all  stiffness,  all  formality,  all  pedantry  of  grandeur, 
to  lead  me  to  speak  to  her  with  openness  and  ease ;  but 
any  inquiries  which  she  made  in  our  tete-^-tetes  never 
awakened  an  idea  of  prying  into  affairs,  diving  into  secrets, 
discovering  views,  intentions,  or  latent  wishes,  or  causes. 
No,  she  was  above  all  such  minor  resources  for  attaining 
intelligence ;  what  she  desired  to  know  she  asked  openly, 
though  cautiously  if  of  grave  matters,  and  playfully  if  of 
mere  news  or  chit-chat,  but  always  beginning  with,  "  If  there 
is  any  reason  I  should  not  be  told,  or  any  that  you  should  not 
tell,  don't  answer  me."     Nor  were  these  words  of  course ; 


522  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1818. 

they  were  spoken  with  such  visible  sincerity,  that  I  have 
availed  myself  of  them  fearlessly,  though  never  without 
regret,  as  it  was  a  delight  to  me  to  be  explicit  and  confi- 
dential in  return  for  her  condescension.  But  whenever 
she  saw  a  question  painful,  or  that  it  occasioned  even  hes- 
itation, she  promptly  and  generously  started  some  other 
subject. 

Wednesday,  Dec.  2nd. —  The  Queen,  the  excellent  exem- 
plary Queen,  was  this  day  interred  in  the  vault  of  her 
royal  husband's  ancestors,  to  moulder  like  his  subjects, 
hodily  into  dust ;  but  mentally,  not  so !  She  will  live  in 
the  memory  of  those  who  knew  her  best,  and  be  set  up  as 
an  example  even  by  those  who  only  after  her  death  know, 
or  at  least  achwivledge,  her  virtues. 

I  heard  an  admirable  sermon  on  her  departure  and  her 
character  from  Mr.  Eepton  in  St.  James's  Church.  I  wept 
the  whole  time,  as  much  from  gratitude  and  tenderness  to 
hear  her  thus  appreciated  as  from  grief  at  her  loss —  to  me 
a  most  heavy  one  !  for  she  was  faithfully,  truly,  and  solidly 
attached  to  me,  as  I  to  her. 

Saturday,  Dec.  12th. — A  letter  from  the  Duchess  of 
Gloucester,  to  my  equal  gratification  and  surprise.  She 
has  deigned  to  answer  my  poor  condolence  the  veiy  mo- 
ment, as  she  says,  that  she  received  it.  Touched  to  the 
heart,  but  no  longer  with  pleasure  in  any  emotion,  I  wept 
abundantly. 

Saturday,  19th. — Yesterday  was  the  twenty-fourth  birth- 
day of  my  dear  fatherless  Alex.  !  Oh,  how  far  from  a  day 
of  gratulation,  as  for  twenty-three  years  have  been  its  other 


anniversaries 


Dec.  2bth,  Christmas  Day.  —  Oh,  most  melancholy  ! 
My  Alex.  —  who  alone  gives  me  a  sense  of  life  —  for  all 
others  that  I  love  are  dispersed,  Alex,  left  me  for  Richmond. 
I  favored  his  going,  yet  what  am  I  without  him  ? 


1819.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  523 

I  took  the  Sacrament  from  the  Eeverend  and  excellent 
Dr.  Andrews.  Oh,  how  was  I  affected  at  his  sight  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice  !  He  knew,  and  highly  esteemed,  my 
beloved.     I  wept  at  the  altar  irresistibly. 

1819. 

Sunday,  April  11. — This  morning  my  dearest  Alexander 
was  ordained  a  priest  by  the  Bishop  of  Chester  in  St. 
James's  Church.  I  went  thither  w^ith  my  good  Eliz.  Kam- 
say,  and  from  the  gallery  witnessed  the  ceremony.  Fifty- 
two  were  ordained  at  the  same  time.  I  fervently  pray  to 
God  that  my  son  may  meet  this  his  decided  calling  with  a 
disposition  and  conduct  to  sanction  its  choice  !  and  with 
virtues  to  merit  his  noble  father's  name  and  exemplary 
character  !     Amen  !  Amen  ! 

Thursday,  July  15. —  A  message  from  H.  R.  H.  Princess 
Augusta,  with  whom  I  passed  a  morning  as  nearly  delight- 
ful as  any,  now,  can  be  !  She  played  and  sang  to  me  airs 
of  her  own  composing  —  unconscious,  medley  reminis- 
cences, but  very  pretty,  and  prettily  executed.  I  met  the 
Duke  of  York,  who  greeted  me  most  graciously ;  saying, 
as  if  with  recrret,  how  lonfj  it  was  since  he  had  seen  me. 

In  coming  away,  I  met,  in  the  corridor,  my  sweet  Duch- 
ess of  Gloucester,^  who  engaged  me  for  next  Sunday  to 
herself. 

^  Princess  Mary,  married,  in  July,  1816,  to  her  cousin,  H.  R.  H.  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester.  The  cousins  had  been  lovers  from  childhood,  but 
their  attachment  was  long  in  receiving  the  royal  sanction,  for  the  reason 
that  the  Duke  was,  so  to  speak,  reserved  as  a  possible  candidate  for  the 
hand  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  heiress  to  the  throne.  It  was  not  till  after 
the  marriage  of  the  Princess  with  Prince  Leopold  that  the  long-deferred 
union  was  at  length  permitted.  It  is  said  that  when  the  Princess  Char- 
lotte came  to  Windsor,  after  the  formal  announcement  of  her  betrothal  to 
Parliament,  Princess  Mary  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase,  and, 


524  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1820. 

Monday,  2&7i.  —  Her  Eoyal  Highness  presented  me  to 
the  Duke,  whom  I  found  well-bred,  polite,  easy,  unassum- 
ing, and  amiable ;  ki7id,  not  condescending. 

[An  interval  of  four  months  elapsed  between  the  preced- 
ing entries  and  the  letters  following,  during  which  the 
mind  of  Madame  d'Arblay  became  more  resigned  to  her 
great  affliction.  At  this  time  the  public  attention  was 
much  occupied  by  the  return  of  Queen  Caroline,  to  which 
event  Madame  d'Arblay  alludes  in  the  following  letter.] 


Madame  d'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Locke. 

Wednesday,  June  7,  1820. 

.  .  .  All  London  now  is  wild  about  the  newly  arrived 
royal  traveller.  As  she  is  in  this  neighborhood,  our  part 
of  the  town  is  surprised  and  startled  every  other  hour  by 
the  arrival  of  some  new  group  of  the  curious  rushing  on 
to  see  her  and  her  'squire  the  Alderman,  at  their  balcony. 
Her  'squire,  also,  now  never  comes  forth  unattended  by  a 
vociferous  shouting  multitude.  I  suppose  Augusta,  who 
resides  still  nearer  to  the  dame  and  the  'squire  of  dames, 
is  recreated  in  this  lively  way  yet  more  forcibly. 

The  15th  of  this  mopth  is  to  be  kept  as  King's  hirthday 
at  Court.  Orders  have  been  issued  to  the  Princesses  to 
that  effect,  and  to  tell  them  they  must  appear  entirely  out 
of  mourning.  They  had  already  made  up  dresses  for  half 
mourning,  of  white  and  black.  I  should  not  marvel  if  the 
royal  traveller  should  choose  to  enter  the  apartments,  and 
offer  her  congratulations  upon  the  festival. 

bathed  in  tears  of  joy,  embraced  her  with  grateful  affection.  Her  own 
marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  took  place  four  months  later. 
Princess  Mary  being  then  forty  years  of  age.  The  union  is  said  to  have 
been  one  of  singular  happiness. 


1820.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  525 


From  Mrs.  Piozzi  to  Madame  d'Arblay. 

Bath,  October  20. 

It  was  very  gratifying,  dear  Madam,  to  find  myself  so 
kindly  remembered,  and  with  all  my  heart  I  thank  you  for 
your  letter.  My  family  are  gone  to  Sandgate  for  the  pur- 
pose of  bathing  in  the  sea,  this  wonderfully  beautiful 
October  ;  and  were  you  not  detained  in  London  by  such  a 
son  as  I  hear  you  are  happy  in,  I  should  wish  you  there 
too.  Apropos  to  October,  I  have  not  your  father's  admir- 
able verses  upon  that  month  ;  those  upon  June  I  saw  when 
last  in  Wales ;  could  you  get  me  the  others  ? —  it  would 
be  such  a  favor,  and  you  used  to  like  them  best. 

How  changed  is  the  taste  of  verse,  prose,  and  painting  ! 
since  le  hon  vieux  temps,  dear  Madam !  Nothing  attracts 
us  but  what  terrifies,  and  is  within  —  if  within  —  a  hair's 
breadth  of  positive  disgust.  The  picture  of  Death  on  his 
Pale  Horse,  however,  is  very  grand  certainly  —  and  some 
of  the  strange  things  they  write  remind  me  of  Squoire 
Eichard's  visit  to  the  Tower  Menagerie,  when  he  says,  "  Odd, 
they  are  pure  grim  devils,"  —  particularly  a  wild  and  hid- 
eous tale  called  Frankenstein.  Do  you  ever  see  any  of 
the  friends  we  used  to  live  among  ?  Mrs.  Lambart  is  yet 
alive,  and  in  prosperous  circumstances ;  and  Fell,  the  book- 
seller in  Bond  Street,  told  me  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks 
ago,  that  Miss  Streatfield  lives  where  she  did  in  his  neigh- 
borliood,  —  Clifford  Street,  S.  S.  still. 

Old  Jacob  and  his  red  night-cap  are  the  only  live  crea- 
tures, as  an  Irishman  would  say,  that  come  about  me  of 
those  you  remember,  and  death  alone  will  part  us,  —  he 
and  I  both  lived  longer  with  Mr.  Piozzi  than  we  had  done 
with  Mr.  Thrale. 

Archdeacon  Thomas  is,  I  think,  the  only  friend  you  and 
I  have  now  quite  in  common :  he  gets  well ;  and  if  there 


526  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1820. 

was  hope  of  his  getting  clear  from  entanglement,  he  would 
be  young  again,  —  he  is  a  valuable  mortal. 

Adieu  !  Leisure  for  men,  of  business,  you  know,  and 
business  for  inen  of  leisure,  would  cure  many  complaints. 

Once  more,  farewell !  and  accept  my  thanks  for  your 
good-natured  recollection  of  poor  H.  L.  P. 


Madame  d  'Arblay  to  Mrs.  Piozzi. 

Bolton  Street,  December  15,  1820. 

Now  at  last,  dear  Madam,  with  a  real  pen  I  venture  to 
answer  your  kind  acceptance  of  my  Bath  leave-taking 
address,  of  a  date  I  would  wish  you  to  forget  —  but  the 
letter  is  before  me,  and  has  no  other  word  I  should  like  to 
relinquish.  But  more  of  grief  at  the  consequence  of  my 
silence,  namely,  your  own,  hangs  upon  the  circumstance 
than  shame,  for  I  have  been  so  every  way  unwell,  —  un- 
hinged, shattered,  and  unfitted  for  any  correspondence  that 
could  have  a  chance  of  reciprocating  pleasure,  that  perhaps 
I  ought  rather  to  demand  your  thanks  than  your  pardon 
for  this  delay.  I  will  demand,  however,  which  you  please, 
so  you  will  but  tell  me  which  you  will  grant,  for  then  I 
shall  hear  from  you  again. 

I  must,  nevertheless,  mention  that  my  first  intention, 
iipon  reading  the  letter  with  which  you  favored  me,  was  to 
forward  to  you  the  verses  on  October,  of  my  dear  father, 
which  you  honored  with  so  much  approbation  ;  but  I  have 
never  been  able  to  find  them,  unless  you  mean  the  ode, 
written  in  that  month,  on  the  anniversary  of  his  marriage 
with  my  step-motlier,  beginning  :  — 

"  Hail,  eldest  offspring  of  the  circling  year, 
October  !  bountiful,  benign,  and  clear, 
Whose  gentle  reign,  from  all  excesses  free, 
Gave  birth  to  Stella  —  happiness  to  me." 


1820.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  527 

If  it  be  this,  I  will  copy  it  out  with  the  greatest  alacrity, 
for  the  first  opportunity  of  conveyance. 

So  here,  again,  like  the  dun  of  a  dinner  card,  I  entitle 
myself  to  subjoin  "  An  answer  is  required." 

And  now  I  must,  and  will  add,  that  I  was  very  far  from 
insensible  to  the  known  approach  of  your  last  birthday, 
fully  purposing  to  take  that  occasion  for  making  my  peace- 
offering,  with  my  most  sincere  felicitations,  and  warmest 
wishes  for  your  happiness  ;  and,  mentally,  I  prepared  at 
least  twenty  letters  for  that  day :  —  but  they  were  com- 
monly composed  in  the  night,  when  no  substantial  pen  was 
in  the  way,  and  though  the  broad  light  faded  nothing  of  my 
intentions,  it  withered  their  expression,  and  a  general  dim- 
ness of  general  dejection  made  me  feel  quite  unequal  to 
coming  forward  at  an  epoch  of  joy,  when  faint  phrases 
might  have  seemed  cold,  and  rather  have  damped  than 
exhilarated  the  spirits  required  for  the  fete,  —  and  which, 
my  nieces  write  word,  had  the  effect  of  exciting  them  all 
around. 

You  inquire  if  I  ever  see  any  of  the  friends  we  used  to 
live  amongst :  —  almost  none  ;  but  I  may  resume  some  of 
those  old  ties  this  winter,  from  the  ardent  desire  of  my  son. 
I  have,  till  very  lately,  been  so  utterly  incapable  to  enjoy 
society,  that  I  have  held  it  as  much  kindness  to  others  as 
to  myself,  to  keep  wholly  out  of  its  way.  I  am  now,  in 
health,  much  better,  and,  consequently,  more  able  to  con- 
trol the  murmuring  propensities  that  were  alienating  me 
from  the  purposes  of  life  while  yet  living,  —  this  letter, 
indeed,  will  show  that  I  am  restored  to  the  wish  at  least 
of  solace,  and  that  the  native  cheerfulness  of  my  tempera- 
ment is  opening  from  the  weight  of  sadness  by  which  I 
had  long  believed  it  utterly  demolished.  But  Time,  "  un- 
called, unheeded,  unawares,"  —  works  as  secretly  upon  our 
spirits  as  upon  our  years,  and  gives  us  as  little  foresight 


528  DIARY   AND    LETTERS  [1821. 

into  what  we  can  endure,  as  into  how  long  we  shall  exist. 
—  I  am  sure  you  will  have  been  very  sorry,  and  very  sorry 
was  I,  for  him  whom  you  call  "  the  only  friend  we  now 
have  in  common"  —  Archdeacon  Thomas.  And  I  am  told 
his  valuable  life  was  lost  through  a  neglect  of  attention  to 
the  regimen  prescribed  by  Dr.  Gibbs,  —  to  whose  prescrip- 
tions I,  for  one,  should  always  be  ready  to  bow  down.  I 
think  he  has  much  of  that  sort  of  sagacity  that  so  charmed 
us  in  our  favorite  Sir  Eichard  Jebb.  Yet  I  only  saw  him 
once  ;  but  that  was  in  a  tete-a-tete,  alternized  with  a  trio 
by  my  son,  that  lasted  a  whole  afternoon.  I  am  told  by 
Mrs.  H.  Bowdler,  that  S.  S.  now  resides  in  Queen  Street, 
May  Fair ;  but  I  have  not  seen  her,  nor  Sir  W.  W.  Pepys, 
though  the  latter  made  sundry  kind  efforts  to  break  the 
spell  of  my  obscurity  on  my  first  arrival  in  Bolton  Street. 
Your  obliged  and  affectionate  F.  d'Arblay. 

My  sou  is  at  Cambridge,  far,  alas,  from  robust ;  but  free 
from  complaint. 


From  Mrs.  Piozzi  to  Madame  d  'Arblay. 

Penzance,  Thursday,  January  18,  1821. 
Dear  Madame  d'Arblay  was  very  considerate  in  giving 
me  something  to  ansiver,  for  something  original  to  say 
would  be  difficult  to  find  at  Penzance  ;  but  your  letter  has 
no  date,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  Bolton  Street  is  sufficient. 
Poor  Mrs.  Byron,  who  used  to  inhabit  it,  would  have  en- 
joyed her  grandson's  reputation,  would  not  she  ?  had  it 
pleased  God  to  lengthen  her  life  like  that  of  Mrs.  Lambart, 
who  died  only  last  week,  but  a  few  days  short  of  her 
expected  centenary  —  as  did  Fontenelle.  You  are  truly 
fortunate,  dear  Madam,  so  was  your  father,  in  leaving  those 
behind  who  knew  and  could  appreciate    your  merits  — 


1821.]  OF  MADAME  D'ARBLAY.  529 

every  scrap  will  properly  be  valued  —  but  those  verses 
belong  not  to  the  October  I  meant. 

Have  no  fears  for  the  healtli  of  your  son ;  a  slight  frame 
escapes  many  ills  that  beset  a  robust  one ;  water-gruel  and 
spinach  were  all  you  ever  wanted  ;  and  if  Sir  George  Gibbs 
would  live  as  our  beloved  Sir  Eichard  did,  he  would  last 
for  ever.  The  dear  Archdeacon's  disorders  were  less  amena- 
ble to  diet,  and  he  was  still  more  careless. 

The  once  charming  S.  S.  had  inquired  for  me  of  Norna- 
ville  and  Fell,  the  Old  Bond  Street  booksellers,  so  I  thought 
she  meditated  writing,  but  .was  deceived.  Mrs.  H.  Bow- 
dler  lives,  however;  and  the  ever  affectionate  and  kind 
Pepyses.  Your  constant  admirer,  Doctor  Whalley,  too, 
keeps  his  tall  figure  and  high  head  above  water,  spite  of 
many  efforts  to  hold  him  down  —  but  the  list  of  dead  ac- 
quaintance has  been  frightful  of  late,  and  lowered  my  spirits 
cruelly.  This  air  to  which  wise  mortals  recommended  me 
is  beyond  all  belief  contrary  to  consolation.  Foggy  and 
phlegmatic  —  neither  hot  nor  cold  —  my  moimtain-born 
lungs  feel  its  effects  but  too  plainly ;  and  the  first  prim- 
roses shall  find  me  picking  them  upon  Clifton  Hill. 

Mrs.  Bourdois  and  her  sisters  —  all  true  Burneys  —  will 
be  angry  I  don't  live  wholly  at  Bath,  and  their  society 
would  prove  a  strong  temptation  ;  but  Bath  is  too  much 
for  me,  who  am  now  unwilling  to  encounter  either  crowds 
or  solitude :  I  feared  neither  for  threescore  years  of  my 
life,  and  earnestly  now  join  my  too  disinterested  solicita- 
tions to  those  of  your  son,  that  you  will  no  longer  bury 
your  charming  talents  in  seclusion.  Sorrow,  as  Dr.  John- 
son said,  is  the  mere  rust  of  the  soul.  Activity  will 
cleanse  and  brighten  it. 

You  recollect  the  's  ;  Fanny  married  Sir  Something 

,  and  is  a  widowed  mother.    The  young  man,  of  whom 

high  expectations  were  formed,  took  to  the  gaming-table, 

VOL.   II.  34 


530  DIAKY  AND   LETTERS  [1821. 

forged  for  £5,000,  and  was  saved  out  of  prison  by  the  dex- 
terity of  his  servant :  —  a  complete  coup  de  theatre.  That 
I  call  sorrow  scarce  possible  to  be  borne.  You  saw  the 
story  in  the  newspapers,  but  possibly  were  not  aware  who 
wa^  the  sufferer. 

Will  it  amuse  you  to  hear  that  fine  Mr.  Daniel,  as  you 
used  to  call  my  showy  butler,  died  an  object  of  disgust  and 
horror,  whilst  old  Jacob,  with  whose  red  nightcap  you 
comically  threatened  the  gay  dandy  —  lived  till  the  other 
day,  and  dying,  left  £800  behind  lum  ?  Such  stuff  is  this 
world  made  of! 

The  literary  world  is  to  me  terra  incognita,  far  more  de- 
serving of  the  name  (now  Parry  and  Eoss  are  returned) 
than  any  part  of  the  polar  region  ;  but  the  first  voyage 
amused  me  most  ;  and  when  I  had  seen  red  snow,  and 
heard  of  men  who  wanted  our  sailors  to  fly,  because  they 
perceived  they  could  swim,  I  really  thought  it  time  to  lie 
down  and  die ;  but  one  cannot  die  when  one  will,  so  I 
have  hung  half  on,  half  off  society  this  last  half  year ; 
and  begin  1821  by  thanking  dear  Madame  d'Arblay  for 
her  good-natured  recollection  of  poor  H.  L.  Piozzi. 


Madame  d''Arhlay  to  Mrs.  Piozzi. 
Bolton  Street,  Berkeley  Square,  Feb.  6,  1821. 
You  would  be  repaid,  dear  Madam,  if  I  still,  as  I  be- 
lieve know  you,  for  the  great  kindness  of  your  prompt 
answer,  had  you  witnessed  the  satisfaction  with  which  it 
was  received,  even  at  a  time  of  new  and  dreadful  solicitude ; 
for  my  son  returned  from  Cambridge  unwell,  and  in  a  few 
days  after  his  arrival  at  home  was  seized  with  a  feverish 
cold  which  threatened  to  fasten  upon  the  whole  system  of 
his  existence,  not  with  immediate  danger,  but  with  a  per- 


1821.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  531 

spective  to  leave  but  small  openings  to  any  future  view  of 
health,  strength,  or  longevity.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  this 
period,  but  briefly  say,  it  seems  passed  over.  He  is  now,  I 
thank  heaven,  daily  reviving,  and  from  looking  like  —  not 
a  walking,  but  a  creeping  spectre,  he  is  gaining  force,  spirit, 
and  flesh  visibly,  and  almost  hour  by  hour  ;  still,  however, 
he  requires  the  utmost  attention,  and  the  more  from  the 
extreme  insouciance,  from  being  always  absorbed  in  some 
mental  combinations,  with  which  he  utterly  neglects  him- 
self. I  am  therefore  wholly  devoted  to  watching  him.  I 
am  quite  vexed  not  to  find  the  right  October.  However,  I 
do  not  yet  despair,  for  in  the  multitude  of  MSS.  that  have 
fallen  to  my  mournfully  surviving  lot  to  select,  or  destroy, 
&c.,  chaos  seems  come  again  ;  and  though  I  have  worked 
at  them  during  the  last  year,  so  as  to  obtain  a  little  light, 
it  is  scarcely  more  than  darkness  visible.  To  all  the  vast 
mass  left  to  my  direction  by  my  dear  father,  who  burnt 
nothing,  not  even  an  invitation  to  dinner,  are  added  not 
merely  those  that  devolved  to  me  by  fatal  necessity  m 
1818,  but  also  all  the  papers  possessed  from  her  childhood 
to  her  decease  of  that  sister  you  so  well,  dear  Madam, 
know  to  have  been  my  heart's  earliest  darling.  When  on 
this  pile  are  heaped  the  countless  hoards  which  my  own 
now  long  life  has  gathered  together,  of  my  personal  prop- 
erty, such  as  it  is,  and  the  correspondence  of  my  family 
and  my  friends,  and  innumerable  incidental  windfalls,  the 
whole  forms  a  body  that  might  make  a  bonfire  to  illumi- 
nate me  nearly  from  hence  to  Penzance.  And  such  a  bon- 
fire might,  perhaps,  be  not  only  the  shortest,  but  the  wisest 
way  to  dispose  of  such  materials.  This  enormous  accumu- 
lation has  been  chiefly  owing  to  a  long  unsettled  home, 
joined  to  a  mind  too  deeply  occupied  by  immediate  affairs 
and  feelings  to  have  the  intellect  at  liberty  for  retro- 
spective investigations. 


532  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1821. 

What  a  long  detail !  I  know  not  what  has  urged  me  to 
write  it  —  yet  I  feel  as  if  you  would  take  in  it  some  in- 
terest; and  an  instinct  of  that  flattering  sort  is  always 
pleasant,  though  far  from  always  infallible.  And  in  truth, 
in  this  case,  Bolton  Street  offers  not  much  more  choice  of 
subject  than  Penzance ;  for  if  you  have  nobody  to  see,  I 
see  nobody,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  It  is  not 
that  my  intentions  are  changed  from  those  I  mentioned  in 
ray  last,  of  seeking  revival,  in  some  measure,  to  social  life 
for  the  remaining  acts  of  my  worldly  drama ;  my  quick 
acceptance  of  the  assistance  to  that  purpose  for  which  I 
called  from  Penzance,  and  which  has  been  accorded  me 
with  such  generous  vivacity,  may  show  my  steadiness,  as 
well  as  ray  gratitude :  but  I  had  not  taken  into  my  self- 
bargain  this  illness  of  my  son.  However,  as  he  gets  better, 
1  shall  do  better.  I  am  much  obliged  by  Dr.  Whalley's 
kind  remembrance ;  he  often  called  upon  me,  but  never 

till  my  doors  were  shut  to  all  occasional  visitors,  alas  ! 

I  shall  soon  be  very  glad  to  see  Sir  Wm.  Pepys,  who  has  a 
constancy  in  his  attachments  as  rare  as  it  is  honorable. 
The  "  once  charming  S.  S."  I  have  never  met  with  since  I 
last  saw  her  under  the  roof  where  first  we  made  acquaint- 
ance.    I  hope  the  P 's  have  been  more  fortunate  than 

the 's.     Oh  !  yes  !  —  well  do  you  say  for  my  serious 

consolation,  a  sorrow  such  as  that  son  has  given  makes  any 
other  lighter  !  Edifying,  however,  as  well  as  satisfactory, 
is  the  contrasted  termination  of  the  two  servants  whose 
lives  merited  such  equally  exemplary  justice.  Adieu,  dear 
Madam,  and  believe  me  with  faithful  attachment,  your 
obliged,  affectionate,  and  obedient  servant,  F.  d'A. 


1821.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.    .  533 


From  Mrs.  Fiozzi  to  Madame  d'Arblai/. 

SiON  Row,  Clifton,  near  Bristol,  March  15,  1821. 
I  feel  quite  happy  in  being  able  to  reply  to  dear  Ma- 
dame d'Arblay's  good-natured  inquiries,  from  this,  the  liv- 
ing world.  Such  we  cannot  term  Penzance  —  not  with 
propriety —  much  like  Omai,  who  said  to  you,  "No  mutton 
there,  missee,  no  fine  coach,  no  clock  upon  the  stairs,"  &c.  ; 
but  en  revanche  here  is  no  Land's  End,  no  submarine  mine 
of  Botallock !  What  a  wonderful  thing  is  that  extensive 
cavern  !  stretching  out  half  a  mile  forward  under  the  roar- 
ing ocean,  from  whence  't  is  protected  only  by  a  slight  cov-, 
ering,  a  crust  of  rock,  which,  if  by  any  accident,  exploded, 

"  Would  let  in  light  on  Pluto's  dire  abodes, 
Abhorr'd  by  men,  and  dreadful  even  to  Gods." 

Plutus,  however,  not  Pluto,  is  professed  proprietor ;  't  is  an 
immense  vacuity  filled  with  the  vapors  of  tin  and  copper, 
belonging  to  Lord  Falmouth  and  a  company  of  miners, 
where  sixty  human  beings  work  night  and  day,  and  hear 
the  waves  over  their  heads ;  sometimes  regularly  beating 
the  Cornish  cliffs,  sometimes  tossing  the  terrified  mariner 
upon  the  inhospitable  shore ;  where  shipwreck  is,  even  in 
these  civilized  days,  considered  as  a  godsend. 

I  am  glad  I  saw  it,  and  that  I  shall  see  it  no  more.  You 
would  not  know  poor  Streatham  Park.  I  have  been  forced 
to  dismantle  and  forsake  it ;  the  expenses  of  the  pres- 
ent time  treble  those  of  the  moments  you  remember  ;  and 
since  giving  up  my  Welsh  estate,  my  income  is  greatly  di- 
minished. I  fancy  this  will  be  my  last  residence  in  this 
world,  meaning  Clifton,  not  Sion  Row,  where  I  only  live  till 
my  house  in  the  Crescent  is  ready  for  me.  A  high  situation 
is  become  necessary  to  my  breath,  and  this  air  will  agree 
with  me  better  than  Bath  did. 


534  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1821, 

You  ask  how  the  Pitches  family  went  on.  Jane  married 
a  rough  man,  quarter-master  to  a  marching  regiment,  and 
brought  him  three  sons :  the  first  a  prodigy  of  science,  wit, 
and  manners :  he  died  early :  the  second  I  know  nothing 
of :  the  third,  a  model  of  grace  and  beauty,  married  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough's  sister.  Peggy  is  Countess  Coven- 
try, you  know,  and  has  a  numerous  progeny.  Emily  is 
wife  to  Mr.  Jolliffe,  M.P.  for  some  place,  I  forget  what. 
Penelope  married  Sir  John  Sheffield,  but  died  before  he 
came  to  the  title.  I  dined  with  them  all  last  time  I  was 
in  London,  at  Coventry  House.  Poor  old  Davies's  depart- 
ure grieved  me,  so  did  that  of  good  Mr.  Embry ;  mi  resie, 
the  village  of  Streatham  is  full  of  rich  inhabitants,  the 
common  much  the  worse  for  being  so  spotted  about  with 
houses  and  the  possibility  of  avoiding  constant  intercourse 
with  their  inhabitants  (as  in  Mr.  Thrale's  time)  wholly  lost. 

.  .  .  The  Denbighshire  people  will  be  half  a  year  talking 
of  a  Mr.  G ,  that  was  detained  two  months  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Calabria  for  ransom,  with  a  sword  at  his  breast 
and  the  Welsh  relations  had  £200  to  raise  for  the  purpose 
of  gaining  his  release.  Adieu,  dear  madam,  and  accept  my 
best  wishes  for  your  health  and  your  son's ;  and  if  you 
ever  see  Marianne  Francis,  beg  of  her  not  quite  to  give  up 
as  reprobate  yours,  and  her  affectionate  servant, 

H.  L.  P. 

■     ■  May,  1821. 

I  have  lost  now,  just  lost,  my  once  most  dear,  intimate,  and 
admired  friend,  Mrs.  Thrale  Piozzi,  who  preserved  her  fine 
faculties,  her  imagination,  her  intelligence,  her  powers  of 
allusion  and  citation,  her  extraordinary  memory,  and  her 
almost  unexampled  vivacity,  to  the  last  of  her  existence. 
She  was  in  her  eighty-second  year,  and  yet  owed  not  her 
death  to  age  nor  to  natural  decay,  but  to  the  effects  of  a  fall 


1821.]  OF    MADAME    D'ARBLAY.  535 

in  a  journey  from  Penzance  to  Clifton.  On  her  eightieth 
birthday  she  gave  a  great  ball,  concert,  and  supper,  in  the 
public  rooms  at  Bath,  to  upwards  of  two  hundred  persons, 
and  the  ball  she  opened  herself  She  was,  in  truth,  a  most 
wonderful  character  for  talents  and  eccentricity,  for  wit, 
genius,  generosity,  spirit,  and  powers  of  entertainment. 
She  had  a  great  deal  both  of  good  and  not  good,  in  com- 
mon with  Madame  de  Stael  Holstein.  They  had  the  same 
sort  of  highly  superior  intellect,  the  same  depth  of  learning, 
the  same  general  acquaintance  with  science,  the  same  ar- 
dent love  of  literature,  the  same  thirst  for  miiversal  knowl- 
edge, and  the  same  buoyant  animal  spirits,  such  as  neither 
sickness,  sorrow,  nor  even  terror,  could  subdue.  Their  con- 
versation was  equally  luminous,  from  the  sources  of  their 
own  fertile  minds,  and  from  their  splendid  acquisitions  from 
the  works  and  acquirements  of  others.  Both  were  zealous 
to  serve,  liberal  to  bestow,  and  graceful  to  oblige ;  and 
both  were  truly  high-minded  in  prizing  and  praising  what- 
ever was  admirable  that  came  in  their  way.  Neither  of 
them  was  delicate  nor  polished,  though  each  was  flattering 
and  caressing ;  but  both  had  a  fund  inexhaustible  of  good 
humor,  and  of  sportive  gaiety,  that  made  their  intercourse 
with  those  they  wished  to  please  attractive,  instructive,  and 
delightful ;  and  though  not  either  of  them  had  the  small- 
est real  malevolence  in  their  compositions,  neither  of  them 
could  ever  withstand  the  pleasure  of  uttering  a  repartee,  let 
it  wound  whom  it  might,  even  though  each  would  serve 
the  very  person  they  goaded  with  all  the  means  in  power. 
Both  were  kind,  charitable,  and  munificent,  and  therefore 
beloved ;  both  were  sarcastic,  careless,  and  daring,  and 
therefore  feared.  The  morality  of  Madame  de  Stael  was 
by  far  the  most  faulty,  but  so  was  the  society  to  which  she 
belonged  ;  so  were  the  general  manners  of  whose  by  whom 
she  was  encircled. 


536  DIARY   AND   LETTERS  [1823. 


Madame  d^ Arhlay  to  Mrs.  Burnet/. 

February  29,  1823. 

Thanks  for  that  kind  jump  of  joy  for  the  success  of  Alex. 
at  Lee,  and  for  my  hopes  from  St.  Paul's.  You  ask  who 
named  him  Preacher  for  the  5th  Sunday  in  Lent  ?  How 
could  I  omit  telling  you  't  was  the  Bishop  of  London  him- 
self ?  —  This  has  been  brought  about  by  a  detail  too  long 
for  paper,  but  it  is  chiefly  to  my  faithful  old  friends  Bishop 
Fisher  of  Salisbury  and  the  Archdeacon  of  Middlesex 
that  we  owe  this  mark  of  attention ;  for  Alex,  has  never 
been  presented  to  the  Bishop  of  London. 

You  still  ask  about  my  health,  &c.  I  thought  the  good 
result  would  have  sufficed  ;  but  thus  stands  the  detail :  I 
was  packing  up  a  hoard  of  papers  to  carry  with  me  to 
Eichmond,  many  months  now  ago,  and  employed  above  an 
hour,  bending  my  head  over  the  trunk  and  on  my  knees  ; 
—  when,  upon  meaning  to  rise,  I  was  seized  with  a  giddi- 
ness, a  glare  of  sparks  before  my  eyes,  and  a  torturing  pain 
on  one  side  of  my  head,  that  nearly  disabled  me  from 
quitting  my  posture,  and  that  was  followed,  when  at  last  I 
rose,  by  an  inability  to  stand  or  walk.  My  second  threat 
of  seizure  was  at  Eliot  Vale,  while  Alex,  was  at  Tunbridge. 
I  have  been  suddenly  taken  a  third  time,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  with  a  seizure  as  if  a  hundred  windmills  were 
turning  round  in  my  head  :  in  short,  —  I  had  now  recourse 
to  serious  medical  help,  .  .  .  and,  to  come  to  the  sura 
total,  I  am  now  so  much  better  that  I  believe  myself  to  be 
merely  in  the  common  road  of  such  gentle,  gradual  decay 
as,  I  humbly  trust,  I  have  been  prepared  to  meet  with 
highest  hope,  though  with  deepest  awe  —  for  now  many 
years  back. 

The  chief  changes,  or  reforms,  from  which  I  reap  benefit 
are,  1st.  Totally  renouncing  for  the  evenings  all  revision  or 


1823.]  OF  MADAME   D'AEBLAY.  537 

indulgence  in  poring  over  those  letters  and  papers  whose 
contents  come  nearest  to  my  heart,  and  work  upon  its 
bleeding  regrets.  Next,  transferring  to  the  evening,  as  far 
as  is  in  my  power,  all  of  sociality,  with  Alex.,  or  my  few 
remaining  friends,  or  the  few  he  will  present  to  me  of  new 
ones.  3rd.  Constantly  going  out  every  day  —  either  in 
brisk  walks  in  the  morning,  or  in  brisk  jumbles  in  the 
carriage  of  one  of  my  three  friends  who  send  for  me,  to 
a  "  tete-4-tete  "  tea-converse.     4:th.  Strict  attention  to  diet. 

I  ought  to  have  told  you  the  medical  sentence  upon 
which  I  act.  These  were  the  words  —  "  You  have  a  head 
overworked,  and  a  heart  over-loaded."  This  produces  a 
disposition  to  fulness  in  both  that  causes  stagnation,  &c., 
with  a  consequent  want  of  circulation  at  the  extremities, 
that  keeps  them  cold  and  aching. 

Knowing  this,  I  now  act  upon  it  as  warily  as  I  am  able. 

The  worst  of  all  is,  that  I  have  lost,  totally  lost,  my 
pleasure  in  reading !  except  when  Alex,  is  my  lecturer,  for 
whose  sake  my  faculties  are  still  alive  to  what  —  erst ! 
gave  them  their  greatest  delight.  But  alone,  I  have  no 
longer  that  resource !  I  have  scarcely  looked  over  a  single 
sentence,  but  some  word  of  it  brings  to  my  mind  some 
mournful  recollection,  or  acute  regret,  and  takes  from  me 
all  attention  —  my  eyes  thence  glance  vainly  over  pages 
that  awaken  no  ideas.  —  This  is  melancholy  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  yet  I  have  tried  every  species  of  writing  and  writer 
—  but  all  pass  by  me  mechanically,  instead  of  instructing 
or  entertaining  me  intellectually.  But  for  this  sad  de- 
privation of  my  original  taste,  my  evenings  might  always 
be  pleasing  and  reviving  —  but  alas  ! 


638  DLA.RY  AND   LETTERS  [1835. 


1835  —  1838. 

Madame  d'Arblay's  letters  were  now  very  few.  A  com- 
plaint in  one  of  her  eyes,  which  was  expected  to  terminate 
in  a  cataract,  made  both  reading  and  writing  difficult  to 
her.  The  number  of  her  correspondents  had  also  been 
painfully  lessened  by  the  death  of  her  eldest  sister,  Mrs. 
Burney,  and  that  of  her  beloved  friend,  Mrs.  Locke ;  and 
she  had  sympathized  with  other  branches  of  her  family  in 
many  similar  afflictions,  for  she  retained  in  a  peculiar  de- 
gree not  only  her  intellectual  powers,  but  the  warm  and 
generous  affections  of  her  youth. 

"  Though  now  her  eightieth  year  was  past,"  she  took  her 
wonted  and  vivid  interest  in  the  concerns,  the  joys,  and 
sorrows  of  those  she  loved. 

At  this  time  her  son  formed  an  attachment  which  prom- 
ised to  secure  his  happiness,  and  to  gild  his  mother's  re- 
maining days  with  affection  and  peace ;  and  at  the  close 
of  the  year  1836  he  was  nominated  minister  of  Ely  Chapel, 
which  afforded  her  considerable  satisfaction.  But  her  joy 
was  mournfully  short-lived.  That  building,  having  been 
shut  for  some  years,  was  damp  and  ill-aired.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  d'Arblay  began  officiating  there  in  winter,  and  during 
the  first  days  of  his  ministry  he  caught  the  influenza, 
which  became  so  serious  an  illness  as  to  require  the  at- 
tendance of  two  physicians.  Dr.  Holland  and  Dr.  Kings- 
ton exerted  their  united  skill  with  the  kindest  interest ;  but 
their  patient,  never  robust,  was  unable  to  cope  with  the 
malady,  and  on  the  19th  of  January,  1837,  in  three  weeks 
from  his  first  seizure,  the  death  of  this  beloved  son  threw 
Madame  d'Arblay  again  into  the  depths  of  affliction.  Yet 
she  bore  this  desolating  stroke  with  religious  submission, 
receiving  kindly  every  effort  made  to  console  her,  and  con- 


1839.]  OF  MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  539 

fining  chiefly  to  her  own  private  memoranda  the  most 
poignant  expressions  of  her  anguish  and  regret,  as  also  of 
the  deeply  religious  trust  by  which  she  was  supported. 

The  following  paragraph  is  taken  from  her  private  note- 
book :  — 

"1837.  —  On  the  opening  of  this  most  mournful  —  most 
earthly  hopeless,  of  any  and  of  all  the  years  yet  commenced 
of  my  long  career  !  Yet,  humbly  I  bless  my  God  and  Sa- 
viour, not  hopeless ;  but  full  of  gently-beaming  hopes,  count- 
less and  fraught  with  aspirations  of  the  time  that  may 
succeed  to  the  dread  infliction  of  this  last  irreparable  pri- 
vation, and  bereavement  of  my  darling  loved,  and  most 
touchingiy  loving,  dear,  soul-dear  Alex." 

At  this  period  some  letters  on  religious  subjects  passed 
between  Madame  d'Arblay  and  her  excellent  friend  Arch- 
deacon Cambridge,  who  proposed,  as  her  increased  deaf- 
ness and  infirmity  prevented  her  attending  the  public 
worship  of  the  church,  to  administer  the  Holy  Sacrament 
to  her  at  her  own  dwelling ;  and  "  her  devout,  earnest,  and 
composed  manner  of  going  through  this  sacred  duty,  gave 
much  comfort "  to  her  pious  and  venerable  friend. 

Much  as  Madame  d'Arblay  had  been  tried  by  the  se- 
verest penalty  of  lengthened  days,  the  loss  of  those  who 
were  dearest  to  her,  one  more  such  sorrow  remained  in 
her  cup  of  life.  Her  gentle  and  tender  sister  Charlotte, 
many  years  younger  than  herself,  was  to  precede  her  in 
that  eternal  world  for  which  they  were  both  preparing ; 
and  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1838,  a  short  illness  ter- 
minated in  the  removal  of  that  beloved  sister. 

In  November,  1839,  Madame  d'Arblay  was  attacked  by 
an  illness  which  showed  itself  at  first  in  sleepless  nights 
and  nervous  imaginations.  Spectral  illusions,  such  as  Dr. 
Abercrombie  has  described,  formed  part  of  her  disorder; 


540  DIARY  AND   LETTERS  [1840. 

and  though  after  a  time  Dr.  Holland's  skill  removed  these 
nervous  impressions,  yet  her  debility  and  cough  increased, 
accompanied  by  constant  fever.  For  several  weeks  hopes 
of  her  recovery  were  entertained ;  her  patience  assisted  the 
remedies  of  her  kind  physician ;  and  the  amiable  young 
friend, "  who  was  to  her  as  a  daughter,"  watched  over  her 
with  unremitting  care  and  attention ;  but  she  became  more 
and  more  feeble,  and  her  mind  wandered ;  though  at  times 
every  day  she  was  composed  and  collected,  and  then  given 
up  to  silent  prayer,  with  her  hands  clasped  and  eyes  up- 
lifted. 

During  the  earlier  part  of  her  illness  she  had  listened 
with  comfort  to  some  portions  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  but  she 
now  said  to  her  niece,  "  I  would  ask  you  to  read  to  me,  but 
I  could  not  understand  one  word  —  not  a  syllable  !  but  I 
thank  God  my  mind  has  not  waited  till  this  time." 

At  another  moment  she  charged  the  same  person  with 
affectionate  farewells  and  blessings  to  several  friends,  and 
with  thanks  for  all  their  kindness  to  her.  Soon  after  she 
said,  "  I  have  had  some  sleep."  "  That  is  well,"  was  the  re- 
ply ;  "  you  wanted  rest."  " / shall  have  it  soon,  itny  dear" 
she  answered  emphatically:  and  thus,  aware  that  death 
was  approaching,  in  peace  with  all  the  world,  and  in  holy 
trust  and  reliance  on  her  Eedeemer,  she  breathed  her  last 
on  the  6th  of  January,  1840;  the  anniversary  of  that  day 
she  had  long  consecrated  to  prayer,  and  to  the  memory  of 
her  beloved  sister  Susanna. 

Hitherto  Madame  d'Arblay  has  been  known  chiefly  as 
an  Author.  These  Journals  and  Letters  may  show  the  mer- 
its and  peculiarities  of  her  individual  character,  and  the 
bright  example  she  gave  in  the  most  important  relations  of 
life.  If  any  one  was  entitled  to  'confide  in  talents  or  yield 
to  the  guidance  of  imagination,  she  might  have  claimed 
that  privilege  :  but  her  own  words  were,  "  A  fear  of  doing 


1840.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  541 

wrong  has  always  been  the  leading  principle  of  my  internal 
guidance ; "  and  hers  was  not  the  fear  which  shrinks  from 
efforts  or  responsibility.  She  pursued  the  strait  path  of 
duty  in  defiance  of  difficulty  or  distaste,  and  employed  the 
best  means  with  which  she  was  acquainted,  for  bringing 
her  feelings  into  accordance  with  her  judgment. 

Thus,  when  enduring  at  the  Queen's  house  daily  dis- 
comforts, which  not  even  the  penetration  and  benevolence 
of  her  Royal  mistress  could  prevent,  she  "  resolved  to  be 
happy,"  and  from  that  time  she  never  allowed  herself  to 
ponder  on  days  gone  by,  or  on  any  subject  that  could  lead 
to  repining  ;  and  by  such  discipline  she  established  herself 
in  a  state  of  calm  content,  though  her  fatigues  and  the  tyr- 
anny of  Madame  Schwellenberg  continued  in  full  force. 
Her  strict  economy  during  many  years  was  another  proof 
of  this  inflexible  purpose.  For  a  considerable  time  the  in- 
come on  which  she,  her  husband,  and  her  child  subsisted, 
did  not  exceed  £125  a  year.  They  were  too  independent 
in  spirit  to  accept  assistance  from  friends ;  too  upright  to 
rely  on  contingencies  ;  and  Madame  d'Arblay  pursued,  es- 
pecially for  herself,  in  all  the  minutiae  of  domestic  life,  a 
course  of  self-denial  such  as,  she  wrote  to  her  Susanna, 
"  would  make  you  laugh  to  see,  though  perhaps  cry  to 
hear."  With  all  this,  her  mind  and  thoughts  were  never 
shut  up  in  her  economy.  The  friends  who  visited  Camilla 
Cottage  (and  they  were  among  the  distinguished  and  excel- 
lent of  two  countries)  were  made  welcome  to  its  frugal 
fare :  and  the  hand  and  purse  of  the  "  hermits"  were  al- 
ways open  to  distress.  Madame  d'Arblay  used  to  say,  there 
was  no  merit  in  any  charity  unaccompanied  by  some  priva- 
tion. It  was  at  this  period  that  she  originated  the  invita- 
tion sent  by  her  and  M.  d'Arblay  to  his  friend  the  Comte 
de  Narbonne,  to  make  their  cottage  his  home ;  and  it  was 
also  during  these  straitened  circumstances  that  she  with- 


542  DIAKY   AXD    LETTERS  [1840. 

drew  her  comedy  of  "Love  and  Fashion"  from  rehearsal,  in 
dutiful  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  her  father ;  although 
the  manager  of  Covent  Garden  had  promised  her  £400  for 
the  manuscript. 

Queen  Charlotte's  expression,  that  she  was  "  true  as 
gold,"  was  abundantly  verified  in  her  friendships.  Faithful 
in  the  duty  of  private  admonition,  generous  in  never  be- 
traying to  others  the  faults  her  penetration  had  discovered, 
she  was  wise  in  counsel  and  cordial  in  sympathy,  devoting 
her  best  powers  to  the  service  of  those  she  loved. 

It  has  been  elegantly  said  of  Madame  d'Arblay  that 
"  she  lived  to  be  a  classic  ; "  but  she  attained  this  distinc- 
tion only  by  surviving  all  that  could  give  it  value.  Yet  at 
this  period,  when  she  spoke  of  herself  as  one  "  from  whom 
happiness,  in  this  nether  sphere,  was  cut  off  for  ever,"  she 
still  interested  herself  warmly  for  many  whose  distress  was 
their  only  claim  to  the  never-tiring  patience  with  which 
she  heard  their  long  histories,  and  the  judicious  advice  and 
benefactions  with  which  she  sought  to  relieve  them. 

Some  readers  of  this  journal  may  perhaps  have  wished 
to  find  Madame  d'Arblay's  sentiments  on  religious  subjects 
more  fully  detailed.  The  friends  most  intimate  with  her 
knew  that  she  was  actuated  by  a  strong  and  abiding  reli- 
gious principle,  founded  on  a  serious  study  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  What  else,  indeed,  could  have  formed  and  sus- 
tained such  a  character  ?  But  while  this  was  the  main- 
spring of  her  thoughts  and  actions,  a  feeling  of  reverential 
awe  made  her  fearful  of  introducing  religious  subjects  into 
conversation,  and  also  led  her  to  preserve  in  a  separate 
journal  those  devotional  impressions  which  she  deemed  too 
sacred  for  admixture  with  the  trifles  and  amusements  of 
every-day  life.  Eespect  for  what  it  is  presumed  would 
have  been  her  desire,  now  forbids  the  publication  of  these 
private  meditations. 


1840.]  OF   MADAME   D'ARBLAY.  543 

In  conclusion,  may  we  not  find  throughout  these  memoirs 
a  confirmation  of  General  d'Arblay's  parting  testimony, 
that  those  who  knew  her  only  from  public  reputation  were 
unacquainted  with  the  best  and  most  valuable  parts  of  her 
character  ? 

And  this  is  no  slight  praise  when  given  to  the  Author  of 
Evelina,  Cecilia,  and  Camilla. 


INDEX. 


Addington,  Dr.,  ii.  73. 

Amelia,  Princess,  i.  249,  259,  260, 
301,  318  ;  ii.  133,  366,  384,  401. 
Death  of,  405. 

Ancaster,  Duchess  of,  i.  250,  272, 
366. 

d'Arblay,  Alexander,  birth  of,  ii. 
326,  355.  Presented  to  Queen 
Charlotte,  392.  Anecdotes  of, 
400,  411,  447,  452,  454,  481, 
496,  498,  505,  506,  518.  Or- 
dained deacon,  519  ;  priest,  523. 
Death  of,  538. 

d'Arblay,  Madame.  Vide  Burney, 
Frances. 

d'Arblay,  M.,  ii.  287,  291,  293, 
309,  315,  316,  322,  333,  342,  347, 
352,  359,  410,  412,  419,  431,  440, 
460,  478.  Illness  and  death  of, 
505. 

Asaph,  St.,  Bishop  of,  i.  136,  137. 

Ascot  races,  i.  367. 

Augusta,  Princess,  i.  346,  356  ;  ii. 

49,  344,  363,  367,  386,  410. 
d'Autun,  Monsieur.       Vide  Talley- 
rand. 

B. 

Bagshot,  visit  to,  ii.  239. 
Baker,  Sir  George,  ii.  34. 
Baltimore,  Lord,  i.  410. 


Barclay,  David,  purchases  brewery, 
i.  112. 

Baretti,  i.  210,  475,  477. 

Benda,  Madame,  ii.  178. 

Benson,  Miss,  i.  144. 

Betterton,  Miss,  ii.  376. 

Bill,  the  Regency,  ii.  120. 

Birch,  iliss,  i.  84,  86. 

Bonaparte,  ii.  421,  428. 

Boswell,  Mr.,  i.  123,  226  ;  ii.  187, 
188,  268. 

Bouchier,  Captain,  i.  100. 

Broglie,  Madame  de,  ii.  279,  284. 

Broome,  Mr.,  ii.  357. 

Broome,  Mrs.,  ii.  455,  502. 

Bryant,  Mr.,  i.  355,  377,  410. 

Bude,  General,  i.  306. 

Bunbury,  Mr.,  i.  393. 

Burke,  Edmund,  i.  136,  138,  150, 
374,  422.  Speech  at  trial  of 
Warren  Hastings,  446,  451.  Eu- 
logy of  Pitt,  458  ;  ii.  167,  252, 
273.  His  opinion  of  Mrs.  De- 
lany,  274. 

Burke,  Eichard,  i.  137,  426. 

Burney,  Charles,  i.    156,    427  ;   ii. 

158,  456. 
Burney,  Charlotte.      Vicle  Francis, 

Mrs. 
Burney,  Dr.,  i.  4, 10.  Commended 
by  Queen  Charlotte,  201.  His 
"  History  of  Music,"  212.  Visits 
Windsor,  239,  332.  Eemem- 
bered  by  King    George  III.,  ii. 


35 


546 


INDEX. 


118.  Consents  to  resignation  of 
Miss  Burney's  place  at  Court, 
182.  Letter  in  reference  to  her 
marriage,  317.  His  consent,  319. 
Meets  her  on  her  return  from 
France,  456.     Death  of,  460. 

Burney,  Esther,  i.  82,  360  ;  ii.  10, 
355,  407,  535,  538. 

Burney,  Frances  (Madame  d'Ar- 
blay),  reads  Evelina  to  Mr.  Crisp, 
1.  3.  Letter  to  Dr.  Burney,  5. 
First  visit  to  Streatham,  14.  Ac- 
quaintance with  Dr.  Johnson,  16. 
Meets  Mrs.  Montagu,  44.  Visits 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  59.  Meets 
Mrs.  Cholmondely,  60.  Mr.  Sher- 
idan, 65.  Visits  the  Streatfields, 
82.  Letter  to  Dr.  Johnson,  90. 
Journey  to  Bath,  97.  Visits  Mr. 
Ferry,  99.  Encounters  Lady  Say 
and  Sele,  130.  Mr.  Burke,  138. 
Assembly  at  Miss  Monckton's, 
148.  Calls  on  Dr.  Johnson,  154. 
First  meeting  with  Mrs.  Delany, 
157.  AVith  the  Duchess  of  Port- 
land, 161.  Letters  to  and  from 
Dr.  Johnson,  167,  168.  Visits 
Mrs.  Delany,  169,  171.  Letters  to 
Mrs.  Piozzi,  174.  Last  interview 
■with  Dr.  Johnson,  175.  Her 
judgment  of  Dr.  Johnson,  183. 
Letter  from  Madame  de  Genlis, 
184.  Visits  Mrs.  Delany  at 
Windsor,  194.  First  interviews 
with  the  King  and  Queen,  205, 
212,  216,  223,  226.  Is  offered  a 
place  in  the  Royal  Household, 
228.  Reluctant  acceptance,  232, 
233.  Arrival  at  Queen's  Lodge, 
237.  Manner  of  life  at  Windsor, 
244.  "Cooks  snuff,"  256.  En- 
counters the  little  Princess  Amelia 
on  Windsor  TeiTace,  260.  Visit  to 
Nuneham,  267.  To  Oxford,  277. 
Visit  from  Madame  la  Roche,  294. 
Misunderstanding  with  Equerries, 
304.     Col.  Goldsworthy's  expla- 


nation, 307.  Incidents  of  life  at 
Court,  313,  326,  351,  356,  359, 
389.  Makes  acquaintance  with 
Dr.  and  Miss  Herschell,  391. 
Trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  422, 
427,  446,  450,  451,  456,  460. 
Death  of  Mrs.  Delany,  461, 
Legacies  from  Mrs.  Delany,  465. 
Visit  to  Cheltenham,  470.  In- 
terview with  Lalande,  ii.  5.  Fa- 
tigues of  the  drawing-room,  10. 
Insolence  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
11,  14,  15.  Illness  of  King,  22, 
33.  Miss  Burney's  knowledge  of 
his  insanity,  32.  Sjmipathy  with 
Queen,  33,  35,  43.  Painful  days 
at  Windsor,  45,  54.  Journey  to 
Kew,  77.  Present  from  Germany, 
105.  Encounters  King  in  Kew 
gardens,  112.  Illness,  146.  Visit 
to  Weymouth,  148.  Visit  to 
Longleat,  157.  Retiini  to  Wind- 
sor, 158.  Receives  Mrs.  Fairly, 
166.  Is  reader  to  the  Royal  party, 
169.  Meets  Mrs.  Piozzi,  172,  177. 
Confesses  to  Dr.  Burney  her  wish 
to  resign,  182.  Meets  Mr.  Eos- 
well,  188.  Presents  "Memorial," 
195.  Hastings's  trial,  213.  Of- 
fered pension,  230.  Bids  fare- 
well to  the  Court,  231,  233,  235. 
Journey,  240.  With  her  father, 
253.  Calls  on  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg, 255.  Revisits  Windsor, 
258,  265,  269.  Encounter  with 
Mrs.  Wells,  276.  Letters  from 
Madame  de  Stael,  296,  297,  302. 
First  impressions  of  M.  d'Arblay, 
296.  Offer  of  marriage,  309. 
Marriage,  320.  Letters  on  her 
marriage,  321,  323.  Birth  of  her 
son,  326.  Letter  to  the  Comte  de 
Narbonne,  331.  Visits  Windsor 
with  her  husband,  333.  Removes 
toWest  Hamblc,  359.  Summoned 
to  Windsor,  362.  Takes  her  child 
to  Windsor,  392.     Interview  with 


INDEX. 


547 


Princess  Amelia,  403.  Grief  at 
death  of  Mrs.  Phillips,  408.  Goes 
to  Paris,  415.  Impressions  of  the 
First  Consul,  428.  Illness  of,  436. 
Adventures  at  Dunkirk,  442,  446. 
Return  to  England,  454.  Pre- 
sented to  Louis  XVIII. ,  474.  Ad- 
venture at  Ilfracombe,  486.  Let- 
ters to  and  from  Mrs.  Piozzi,  525, 
526,  528,  530.  Illness  of,  536. 
Death  of,  540.  Character  of, 
540,  541,  542. 

Burney,  James,  ii.  178,  183. 

Burney,  Mrs.,  i.  3,  31.  Death  of, 
ii.  354. 

Burney,  Sally,  i.  3,  4. 

Burney,  Susan.  Fide  Phillips, 
Mrs. 

C. 

Cambaceres,  ii.  427. 

Cambridge,  Miss,  i.  229,  418  ;    ii. 

85. 
"Camilla,"  ii.  332,  351. 
Camilla  Cottage,  ii.  542. 
Carmarthen,  Lady,  ii.  37. 
Cater,  Mr.,  i.  112,  113,  115. 
"Cecilia,"  i.  128,  162. 
Chapone,  Mrs.,  i.  158,  421. 
Charlotte,    Princess,    iu    372,    386. 

Death  of,  502. 
Chatham,  Lord,  ii.  183. 
Chatre,  Madame  de,  ii.  288. 
Cheltenham,  visit  to,  i.  470. 
Chester,  Bishop  of,  i.  357. 
Cholmondely,  Mrs.,  i.  6,  8,  60,  62. 

Visit  to,  64,  103i  357. 
Clarence,  Duke  of,  ii.  217. 
Clayton,  Miss,  i.  315,  407. 
Clerk,  Mr.,  ii.  71,  480. 
Clive,  Mrs.,  ii.  417,  428. 
Consul,  the  First,  ii.  417-428. 
Courtown,  Lady,  i.  474. 
Crewe,  Mrs.,  i.  450  ;  ii.  271,  462. 
Crisp,    Mr.,  i.  3,    9,    13,    80,    159. 

His  tragedy,  191. 


Crutchkv,    Mr.,    i.    50,    112,    117, 

119,  125,  426. 
Cumberlands,  the,  i.  23,  64,  87,  86. 


D. 


Davenant,  Mrs.,  i.  107. 

De  Fen-ars,  Lady,  i.  142. 

Delany,  Mrs.,  i.  151,  157.  Her 
paper  mosaic,  160.  Illness  of,  i 
186.  Accepts  from  the  King  and 
Queen  a  house  at  Windsor,  186. 
Anecdotes  of,  189,  212.  Visits 
Miss  Burney  at  Court,  241. 
Notes  for  her  biography,  313. 
Illness  of,  337,  375.  Indigna- 
tion at  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  400. 
Death  of,  461.  Mr.  Burke's  tes- 
timony to  her  character,  274. 

Delap,  Dr.,  i.  75,  77. 

Desmoulins,  Miss.,  i.  39,  154. 

Devonshire,  Duchess  of,  i.  119  ;  ii- 
248,  251. 

Devonshire,  Duke  of,  i.  145. 

Dewes,  Mr.  Bernard,  i.  202, 

Directions   for  a  private  encounter 
with  the  Royal  Family,  i.  203. 

Dobson,  Mrs.,  i.  94. 

Dor.set,  Duke  of,  i.  64. 

Duncan,  Admiral,  ii.  376,  378. 

Dunkirk,  adventures  at,  ii.  437. 

Dui-ham,  Dean  of,  ii.  22. 


E. 

Effingham,  Lady,  ii.  24. 

"Egalite,"  iL  307. 

Egerton,  Mrs.  Ariana,  i.  327. 

Elizabeth,  Princess,  i.  200,  203  ; 
ii.  2,  8,  343,  392. 

Ernest,  Prince,  ii.  375. 

Etiquette  observed  in  the  Royal 
presence,  i.  223,  227. 

"  Evelina,"  i.  2,  3,  read  by  Dr.  Bur- 
ney, 4.  Authorship  made  known, 
11,  27,  45. 


548 


INDEX. 


Fairly,  Col.,  i.  412,  419,  473,  475, 
481  ;  ii.  8,  29,  47,  52,  65,  84,  108, 
161,  164. 

Farren,  Miss,  ii.  376. 

Farnliam  visited,  ii.  240. 

Fauconberg  Hall,  i.  470. 

Ferry,  Mr.,i.  98,  99. 

Finch,  Lady  Charlotte,  ii.  66. 

Fisher,  Dr.,  i.  306,  347,  376,  291  ; 
ii.  347. 

Fite,  Madame  la,  i.  362,  365,  407  ; 
ii.  30. 

Flint,  Bet,  i.  32. 

Fouche,  ii.  4G8. 

Fox,  Mr.,  i.  448,  450. 

Francis,  Mrs.  (Charlotte  Burney), 
i.  4,  167,  235.     Letter  to,  ii.  357. 

Francis,  Sir  Philip,  i.  432. 

Freuss,  Madame  de,  i.  377. 

Frogmore,  ii.  339. 

Fuzilier,  Miss,  ii.  9,  69,  160.  Mar- 
riage of,  164,  165. 


G. 


Garrick,  David,  i.  17. 

Garrick,  Mrs.,  i.  420. 

Genlis,  Madame  de,  i.  184,  185,  322. 

Gloucester,  Duchess  of,  ii.  523. 

Goldsworthy,  Col.,  i.  306,  309,  327, 

367,  387  ;  ii.  18,  403. 
Granville,  ii.  157. 
Gregory,  Miss,  i.  42,  46. 
Grenville,  Gen.,  i.  384,  419  ;  ii.  18. 
Gwynn,  Mrs.,  ii.  150. 


Haggerdorn,  Mrs.,  i.  234,  243,  397, 

399  ;  ii.  86. 
Handel,  ii.  117. 
Harcourt,  Lord  and  Lady,  i.  270, 

390. 
Hartington,  Marquis  of,  ii.  247. 
Hastings,  Mrs.,  i.  263,  264. 


Hastings,  Warren,  i.  374.     Trial  of, 
422,  423,  424  ;  ii.  166,  167,  213. 
Hawke,  Lady,  i.  131. 
Hawkins,  Sir  John,  i.  18. 
Henry,  Mr.,  i.  96. 
Heberden,  Dr.,  ii.  36. 
Herschel,  Dr.,  i.  331,  368,  391. 
Herschel,  Miss,  i.  392. 
Hervey,  Mrs.,  i.  44. 
Hoare,  Mr.,  i.  94. 
Household  of  Dr.  Johnson,  i.  38. 
Hulin,  Gen.,  ii.  419. 
Humphreys,  Miss,  i.  2. 
Hutton,  Mr.,  ii.  21. 


Ilfracombe,  ii.  482. 
Illumination  of  London,  ii.  132. 
Impey,  Sir  Elijah,  i.  444,  445. 


Jackaon,  Mr.,  i.  155. 

Jacobi,  Mdile.,  ii.  227,  256,  341, 
369,  389. 

Jebb,  Sir  Richard,  i.  108. 

Jcssop,  Mr.,  i.  123. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  i.  7,  11,  12,  16,  22, 
38,  56,  58,  114,  117,  126,  140, 
143,  149,  153,  156.  Hlness  of, 
166.  His  fear  of  death,  168,  173, 
Anecdote  of  his  wife,  175.  Last 
illness  of,  180.  Death  of,  182, 
459.     Anecdote  of,  467. 


K. 


Kauffmann,  Angelica,  ii.  148. 

Kemble,  Mr.,  ii.  326. 

Kennicott,  Mrs.,  i.  324. 

Kevv,  i.  262,  366,  380.  Description 
of  palace,  ii.  80. 

King  George  III.  Offers  a  house 
to  Mrs.  Delany,  i.  186.  Praises 
Mrs.     Siddons,     224.     Criticises 


INDEX. 


549 


Shakespeare,  225.  His  affection 
for  the  Princess  Amelia,  250. 
Attempt  on  life  of,  251,  252. 
Kindness  of  heart,  384.  Failing 
health,  ii.  21,  23.  Affection  for 
Queen,  25.  Insanity,  32,  35,  51, 
65.  Encounter  with  Miss  Bur- 
ney  in  Kew  Gardens,  112.  Res- 
toration to  health,  128.  Receives 
the  address  of  Lords  and  Com- 
mons, 134.  Royal  birthdays, 
217,  269.  Renewed  and  con- 
tinued insanity,  502. 


Ladd,  Lady,  i.  54,  55. 

Lafayette,  Mons.  de,  ii.  291. 

Lafayette,  Madame  de,  ii.  417. 

Lalande,  Mr.,  ii.  2,  5. 

Langton,  Mr.,  i.  21. 

Lansdowne,  Earl  of,  ii.  157. 

Levelt,  Mr.,  i.  39. 

Lever,  Sir  John  Ashton,  i.  156. 

Lian court,  Due  de,  ii.  281.  Narra- 
tive of,  282. 

Lind,  Dr.,  i.  196,  200,  416. 

Locke,  Mr.,  ii.  124,  322,  465. 

Locke,  Mrs.,  i.  288,  361,  362  ;  ii. 
84,  288,  316,  321.  Death  of, 
538. 

Long  Acre,  i.  275. 

Longleat,  ii.  157. 

Louis  XVL,  ii.  282, 295,  296. 

Louis  XVII L,ii.  468,471. 

Lowndes,  Mr.,  i.  20. 

Luc,  de,  Mr.,  i.  369. 

Lyttelton,  Life  of  Lord,  i.  113,  114, 
115. 


M. 

Macbean,  Mr.,  i.  39. 

Manners,  Col.,  i.    359,    367,    370 

u.  64. 
Marie  Antoinette,  ii.  340. 


Marlborough,  Duke  of,  i.  216. 
Mary,  Princess,  i.  365  ;  ii.  218,  232. 

Marriage  of,  523. 
Mawr,  Miss,  ii.  13. 
"Memorial,  the,"  ii.  196. 
Merlin,  Mr.,  i.  107. 
Molesworth,  Mr.,  i.  129. 
Monckton,  the  Hon.  Miss,  i.  144, 

147. 
Montagu,  Mrs.,  i.    37,  38,  42,  46, 

50,  357,  421  ;  ii.  265. 
Montague,  Duke  of,  i.  384. 
Montmorency,  Due  de,  ii.  288. 
Montmoulin,  Mdlle.,  ii.  19,  163, 
More,  Miss,  i.  191. 
Mount  Edgecumbe,  ii.  154. 
Mount  Edgecumbe,  Lord  and  Lady, 

ii.  155,  156. 
Murphy,  Mr.,  i.  69. 
Musgrave,  Mr.,  i.  122,  124. 


N. 


Narbonne,  Mons.  de,  ii.  288,  290, 

331. 
Norfolk,  Duke  of,  ii.  385. 
Nuneham,  visit  to,  i.  267. 

o. 

Orange,    Prince    and    Princess    of, 

ii.  374,  375. 
Ord,  Mrs. ,  i.   129,  237,  408,    420  ; 

ii.  185,  239. 
Orford,  Lord,  ii.  258. 
Oxford,  i.  277. 


Pacchierotti,  i.  130  ;  ii.  178. 
Palmer,  Miss,  i.  59,  136,  263. 
Palmerston,  Lord,  i.  60. 
Palmyra,  i.  35. 

Paradise,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  i.  129,  130. 
Pendarves,  Mr.,  ii.  157. 
Pepys,  Dr.  (Sir  Lucas),  i.  104,  113, 
140  ;  ii.  60,  73. 


550 


INDEX, 


Peterborough,  Bisliop  of,  i.  98,  99  ; 
ii.  23. 

Phillips,  Capt.,  i.  138. 

Phillips,     Mrs.     (Susan     Barney), 
i.  42,  107,  361  ;  ii.  17,  159.    Let- 
ters  from,    279,    288,   304,    309. 
.  Illness,  407.     Death  of,  408. 

Pinkethman,  Mrs.,  i.  33. 

Piozzi,  Mrs.    Vide  Thrale,  Mrs. 

Pitt,  Mr.,  i.  432  ;  ii.  74,  75. 

Planta,  Miss,  i.  187,  267,  270,  318, 
333  ;  ii.  157,  191. 

Pleydell,  Mrs.,  i.  84. 

Poll,  i.  40. 

Port,   Miss,  i.    195,    223,    237  ;   ii. 
126. 

Portland,  Duchess  of,  i.  150,  161. 

Price,  Major,  1.  277,  302. 

Princes  Royal,  the,  i.  478,  479. 

Princess  Royal,   i.  271,  300  ;  ii.  12, 
340.     Her  marriage,  353,  364. 

Privy  Council,  ii.  74. 


Q- 

Queen  Charlotte,  regard  for  Mrs. 
Delany,  i.  169,  187.  Gift  of 
weaver  bird,  198.  Offers  a  place 
in  household  to  Miss  Buniey, 
229.  Kindness  of  heart,  302, 
315.  Visits  Mrs.  Delany,  325. 
Present  from  King  of  Naples, 
394.  Anxiety  for  the  King,  ii. 
24,  32,  35,  83.  Reception  at 
Weymouth,  149.  Receives  Miss 
Burney's  resignation,  206.  Tes- 
timony to  character  of  same,  207. 
Kindness,  270,  334,  368,  392. 
Death  of,  520.  Sketch  of  char- 
acter of,  521. 


K. 


Ramsden,  Colonel,  i.  368. 
Redlinch,  ii.  157. 
Regency,  the,  ii.  92,  127. 


Reynolds,  Mrs.,  i.  19. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  i.  50,  58,  102, 

137,  155,  357,  421.     Death  of,  ii. 

263. 
Roche,  Madame  la,  i.  292. 
Rochefoucauld,  Due  de  la,  ii.  285. 
Rousseau,  anecdote  of,  i.  224. 
Royale,  Madame,  ii.  341. 
Rudd,  Mrs.,  i.  34. 
Runiford,  Count,  ii.  357. 


S. 


Salisbur}',  visit  to,  ii.  241. 

Salisbury,  Bishop  of,  i.  242,  385. 

Say  and  Sele,    Lady,   i,   130,  132, 
469. 

Say  and  Sele,   Lord,  i.  133. 

Schwellenberg,  Mrs.,  i.  231,  242, 
Tt,:,;.3#2,  303,  333,  366,  378,  386,  395, 
403;  ii.  11.  Illness  of,  17.  Re- 
turn to  Windsor,  54.  Evil  tem- 
per, 82,  131.  Talk  with  Colonel 
Manners,  143.     Death  of,  368. 

Scrase,  Mr.,  i.  111. 

Selwyn,  Mr.,  i.  141. 

Seward,  Mr.,  i.  15,  54,  73,  114,  474. 

Shakespeare,      criticism     of    King 
George  III.,  i.  225. 

Shelley,  Lady,  i.  142. 

Shepherd,  Dr.,  i.  390  ;  ii.  1. 

Sheridan,  Mr.,  i.  65.    Conversation 
with  Dr.  Johnson,  66  ;  ii.  327. 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  i.  153,  224,  387 ;  ii. 
150,  152,  328. 

Sidmouth,  visit  to,  ii.  241. 

Smelt,    Mr.  and  Mrs.,   i.  230,  303, 
320,  342  ;  ii.  47,  50,  85, 139,  159. 

Smith,  Mr.,  i.  51,  112. 

Sophia,  Princess,  i.  221,  395  ;  ii.  26. 

Spencer,  Lady,  ii.  245. 

Stael,    Madame  de,   ii.  295.      Her 
letters,  296,  297,  302,  308. 

Stonehenge,  ii.  241. 

Streatfield,  Mi.ss,  i.  37.     Her  tears, 
71,  75,  83,  125  ;  ii.  267- 


INDEX. 


551 


Streatliam,  i.  14,  140,  426. 
Streathara  letters,  i.  421,  427. 
Swinerton,  Mr.,  i.  142. 


Talleyrand,  ii.  302,  305. 

Thackeray,  Mrs.,  i.  402.     ' 

"The  Bh-th  of  Love,"  ii.  345. 

"  The  Task,"  ii,  56. 

Thrale,  Mr.,  i.  21.  Illness  of,  71, 
105,  108.     Death  of,  109. 

Thrale,  Mrs.,  i.  5,  6,  10,  14,  45,  48. 
Persuades  S.  S.  to  cry,  71,  75, 
98,  101.  Takes  Dr.  Jolmson  to 
task,  117.  Her  raptures  over 
"  Cecilia,"  135.  Remarks  on  Mrs. 
Siddons,  153.  Letter  from  Bath, 
170.  Marriage  to  Piozzi,  173, 
174.  Returns  to  England,  357, 
376,  475.  Last  letters  to  Miss 
Burney,  ii.  503,  525,  528,  533. 
Death  of,  534.    Character  of,  535. 

Thurlow,  Lord  Chancellor,  i.  424. 

Trimmer,  Miss,  ii.  246,  247. 

Trimmer,  Mrs.,  ii.  246. 

Turbulent,  Mr.,  i.  317,  320,  335, 
338,  344,  346,  360,  366,  378,  386, 
400  ;  ii.  22,  224,  226. 


Vesey,  Mrs.,  i.  77,  145. 

W. 

Waldegrave,  Lady  Elizabeth,  i.  260  ; 
ii.  33,  37,  62. 


Wales,   Prince  of,   i.  385  ;  ii.  2,  7, 

29,  41,  50,  51,  74. 
Waller,  Mr.  Edmund,    death  of,  i. 

484. 
Walpole,  Horace,  i.  191,  421. 
Walsingham,  Mrs.,  i.  216. 
Warren,  Dr.,  ii.  38. 
Warren,  Lady,  i.  141 
Webb,  Mr.,  i.  220. 
Welbred,  Colonel,  i.  335,  341,  368, 

413. 
Wells,  Mrs.,  ii.  276. 
West,  Benjamin,  L  154,  332,  366. 
West  Hamble,  ii.  358,  389,  399. 
Westminster  Hall,  iL  263. 
Weymouth,  visit  to,  ii.  147. 
Weymouth,  Lady,  i.  186. 
Whalley,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  i.  95. 
William,  Prince,  ii.  144. 
Williams,  Mrs.,  i.  12,  39,  154. 
Willis,  Dr.,  ii.  93. 
Willis,  Dr.  John,  ii.  97. 
Windsor  Terrace,  i.  260  ;  ii.  347. 
"Witlings,  the,"  i.  78. 
Worcester,  Bishop  of,  i.  328  ;  ii.  59. 
Wurtemburg,     Princess     of.     Vide 

Princess  Royal. 
Wycherly,  Mr.,  ii.  274. 
Wyndham,    Mr.,   i.    427 ;    ii.    125, 

174,  215. 


York,  the  Archbishop  of,  i.  429. 
York,  Duchess  of,  ii.  371,  379. 
York,  Duke  of,  i.  383  ;  ii.  7,  27. 
Young,  Mis.s,  i.  58. 
Young,  Mr.,  ii.  280,  281. 


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